


Yuletide Auction

by brimstonegold, virtualpersonal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Bodice-Ripper, Christmas, Duke Dean, Fluff, Historical Romance, Holidays, Lord Dean, M/M, Mistletoe, Prostitute Sam, Romance, Sexy Times, Wincest - Freeform, auctioned sam, harlequin romance style, joy, lord Sam, trouser-ripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5400011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brimstonegold/pseuds/brimstonegold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The yearly Yuletide auction provides buyers with a month of companionship.  Those who volunteer to be auctioned receive ample compensation to make their dreams come true.  Dean is wealthy, handsome and a Duke to boot.  Having won Sam Wesson at auction, he has no idea what possible complaint the strapping, sometimes disgruntled young man he’s won, harbors against him.  Historical romance.  Trouser-ripper.  Christmas fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s1114.photobucket.com/user/virtualpersonal/media/story%20art/yuletide%20banner%201%20textured%20present%20large_zpsnjm22ldk.jpg.html)

Sitting in the moving carriage, the Duke of Winchester tapped a gold lettered card against his knee. It was an exclusive invitation to a secret pre-Yuletide auction that had been held for centuries upon centuries. 

Invitees were mainly bachelors, widowers, and a much smaller number of widows and unmarried women of their own means. What they all had in common was wealth, and willingness to spend a small fortune to win a companion for the twelfth month of the year. As for the auctionees, they were men and women with impeccable family pedigrees who had fallen on hard times. Each had a different story but, the long and short of it was, they would act as an intimate companion to whoever won them in the auction. Each was assigned a chaperone to protect their reputation, but it was a sham arrangement with the chaperone paid to turn a blind eye to the goings-on between their charge and the auction winner. Once they’d completed their thirty-one days, the auctionees would leave with sufficient funds to buy a cottage and live modestly, or to travel to the new world and begin a new life. Some secretly hoped to find love, something that was not unheard of, but rare.

As the carriage rocked, Dean swore under his breath. The only reason he was doing this was because he’d lost a bet to a sharp gambler of the female persuasion. One ‘Missouri.’ Since he excelled at cards, he still had trouble believing he’d lost to her. And that the stakes had been to do as the winner wished.

He could be in London right now. He had plenty of blunt and had no need for a companion for a full month. And yet, certain close friends disagreed with him. They said he was growing cold and would go to his grave a lonely old man. He wondered if they’d conspired with Missouri. He wouldn’t put it past them. 

Well, what was done, was done. He’d hold up his end of the bargain. He only hoped the auction block would hold a handsome masculine face or two, because that’s where his fancies ran.

The carriage slowed down. Dean pulled the curtains aside and saw the long line of carriages ahead, pulling up in front of the mansion and allowing the passengers to alight. He could hear the string musicians, and there were clusters of men standing around, some smoking their pipes. He rapped twice on the roof. “Stop. I’m getting out.”

“But your Lordship--”

Giving neither the driver, nor the footman, who hurriedly hopped off the carriage and opened the door, a chance to talk, Dean grabbed his top hat and jumped down. The wind whipped at his dark cloak as he headed toward the manor’s entrance, nodding at acquaintances.

*

Samuel Wesson paced the length of the room he’d been allowed to use in the days before the auction began. His father had passed suddenly, his heart giving out on him a few months ago, in the early fall. Sam had taken over the estate and everything was running smoothly, at least until a man showed up to collect on his father’s gambling debts -- debts that Sam had been unaware of. 

Since he hadn’t known about the debts, Sam hadn’t set any money aside to pay them. Instead, he’d just spent a good bit of money on supplying the estate for the winter, set aside money for the servants’ wages, and then made large capital investments that unfortunately wouldn’t reap dividends for months. 

He’d desperately tried to convince the collector to give him some time, vowing to have the money to pay the debt come spring, or at latest summer. He’d gone so far as to beg. 

The bastard refused, and since Sam hadn’t been paying any anything owed on the debt, he was advised that he was in default. Sam was summarily evicted from the estate, with very little to his name. He’d talked with relatives, but none would take him in. He was the man of the estate and he had lost it, thus sullying the Wesson name. No one wanted associated with him.

He’d looked for work and through the harvest had been able to get some meager pay, but winter was coming and his coin wouldn’t carry him through the season. That was when he remembered the Yuletide auctions his father started going to after Sam’s mother passed. His father had said women and men were auctioned and that they were paid well and treated well. He knew his father had always treated the ones he brought home for the holiday with the utmost of respect. 

After Sam made discreet inquiries about the auction, he’d been sent to the manor and, upon his arrival, he’d been given this small room. He was expected to do minor things about the mansion, and in return was fed reasonably well. Tailors had been retained to make up a set of attractive, rich clothing, flattering to him. The cost would come out of the auction amount he brought in. The only thing he didn’t like was there was a very real possibility he would have to show his _masculinity_ to the bidders, to prove his size and his cleanliness. He was uncomfortable with the idea, but he was out of better options.

The day of the auction arrived and he was bathed in scented water and his hair was professionally trimmed. Servants helped him into his new clothes, and he was left to pace the room until called. 

*

When the knock on his door finally came, Sam took a deep breath and walked out to the large room where the bidders would be able to preview those on auction. They’d be able to poke and prod, ask him questions, and see what his experience might be.

When he reached the drawing room where they were to be displayed, he joined others who had also fallen on hard times. Everyone tried to keep a brave smile on their face, but it was obvious most were not excited to be here. They spread out in the room to their assigned places and waited for the bidders to enter. 

Men started to filter into the room, as did a few women. They had but to approach a _candidate_ , and a designated official would supply information about the candidate’s place in the auction, their first name, and generalized station. The bidders could then ask questions and carry on conversations with the candidates.

At first, the room was relatively quiet. But as time wore on and drinks were liberally served, tongues loosened. As did clothing and morals.

From a corner of the room, Dean watched with distaste as one of his peers demanded that a candidate bare her breasts. The gown she was wearing showed enough, making the demand completely unnecessary.

Moving away, he walked around. There was one who’d caught his eye, and by the looks of it, the young man was going to be popular. He was surrounded.

Although the bidders weren’t allowed to touch Sam, they still seemed to close in about him, making him uncomfortable. He was asked questions that would normally never be asked in polite company. Things like how many times he could come in one night, how often he’d given head, did he enjoy bondage, and other risqué topics. 

Sam was asked to remove his shirt and strike some poses to show off his new muscles and now-bronzed skin, thanks to working the harvest. It came as no surprise when he had to open his pants and display his dick for all to see. He tried not to blush, to take this all in stride as a simple necessity, but with this many people, he did feel a light heat creep up his face. As soon as he was given permission to tuck it back away, he did.

Watching the candidate, noticing his slight blush and yet brave stance, Dean made up his mind. He wanted what he saw. So long as the man had a brain and could string words together, he would do.

Joining the group, Dean moved past the others, moving into the candidate’s space. “I suggest you leave your shirt undone. You will fetch more, that way.” It wasn’t an entirely selfish suggestion. “Tell me, how much do you think you’re worth?”

Sam turned his attention to the newest brazen bidder and balked. He knew the man’s face, he’d seen him before, though it had been a few years. “For you, I am apparently valueless,” Sam said stiffly. “For others, I can be a most attentive and romantic companion. My value,” he gave the man who’d had him removed from his own estate a tight smile, “goes far beyond my strength, endurance, looks, and education. It will be difficult to put an adequate price on the gifts I will offer to the one wishes to have me as their companion. For I am, quite simply, amazing.” He lifted his chin slightly and locked gazes with the man as he slowly began deliberately buttoning his shirt up.

Dean ignored the gasps and the laughter. His attention was focused only on the insolent man standing in front of him. “Well, you do have a tongue in your head. But apparently, you don’t have a head for business. Some come out of these auctions with enough to live on for the rest of their lives, and others… it’s gone in a matter of months.” Dean gestured, and then leaned in. “A word to the wise, if you are trying to sell something, it is not the clerks and the porters that you try to impress. And if you don’t know the difference between those who hold the big purses, and those who wish to get a gander at you, then you keep a civil tongue in your head and make nice with _everyone_.”

“I have quite a head for business when I am made aware of the bills that are due in an appropriate and timely fashion. Quite honestly, sir, sometimes those with the biggest purses have them because they are overcompensating for something they lack. And believe me sir, you have no idea just how civil I am being to you.” Sam gave a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement to the man’s superior rank and obviously weighty ego.

“You bear a grudge,” Dean deduced, though he had no idea why, nor did he care. “A business novice’s greatest mistake is to cut off one’s nose, to spite one’s face.” He straightened his cravat, then looked back at the man. “If, during the bidding, you change your mind, do unbutton your shirt again. Good evening.” Turning on his heels, Dean walked away to speak with another candidate. He had no intention of wasting his money on someone who would not give him his money’s worth, and from the angle of that young man’s chin, he knew it was exactly what he’d get unless the man came to the bargain willingly. Then there would still be fireworks, of that Dean was sure, but that was something he would look forward to.

Sam breathed a small sigh of relief when the man who’d stolen his home and his name from him went off to investigate others. There were plenty here for the bidding and he made certain to do exactly as the Duke suggested. He made nice.

The bidding finally started and Sam was near the end of the lineup. He waited patiently, drinking the offered wine and eating a few of the finger foods being served, but he was honestly too nervous to eat much. He’d had a nicely sized lunch that would hold him. 

It felt like hours passed, but he was finally motioned forward. He stopped in the center of the small stage, turned this way and that, periodically posing as they had shown him he should. His price soared quickly and those who couldn’t compete started to fall out of the bidding. 

One old man, lecherous and foul-mouthed, seemed more than determined to purchase him. The man was practically toothless, and what few teeth he had were stained and looked half-rotted. Skin sagged on his bones, and Sam had already seen the man use his cane on a handful of the servants, swatting them or even tripping them, and then cackling with delight and making fun of them.

Sam watched with growing panic as it looked more and more likely the old man was going to win him. Glancing off to the side, he saw the smug Duke in his top hat, drinking wine and watching the bidding. He met the man’s green-eyed gaze, but the man’s sheer smugness had him turning his face away to the bidders. 

When the old man was in the lead, again, Sam acted as if something had gotten on his boot. Turning his back to the crowd, he bent over, brushing off the imaginary dirt, letting the audience seen the way the fabric of his pants tightened against his well-formed thighs and buttocks. He was rewarded with the old man being outbid. He shifted as if the other boot was likewise sullied, shifting his hips and flexing the muscles in his ass. He finally straightened and turned around to face the bidders, giving a broad smile to the one currently ahead, showing off his dimples.

Although Dean socialized with those around him, his focus was on the object of the bidding. The bids had gotten quite high, to the point where Sam ought to be more than pleased. But it was becoming very clear that old man Carrington had a thing for him and was driving the bidding. He would not wish that man on anyone, and by the looks of it, Sam had also come to the same realization. He was doing one hell of a job getting some of the others to bid beyond their comfort zone. 

Catching Sam’s gaze, Dean read nothing but sheer rebellion in his eyes. He raised a brow and cocked his head to the side. A small reminder of the lifeline he’d thrown him, but only on Dean’s terms.

Then the old man was in the lead again. Sam’s attention roved over the crowd, and he gave flirtatious looks to those who had bid on him previously, but most looked reluctant. The bidding was clearly beyond their purse.

His gaze once again moved to the Duke, who was clearly amused. Not even certain the Duke was truly interested in him, or interested in him enough to counter the old man’s bids, Sam turned a little toward the Duke. He gave a backward bending stretch with his arms raised and biceps bulging, causing his shirt to tighten around his muscular frame, and his pants to tightened against his groin, so that his dick showed quite clearly under the material.

Dean hadn’t been expecting the sudden surge of desire. His gaze tracked Sam, noting the way his clothes clung to him, and imagining what he looked like under his clothes. When Sam looked back at him, Dean licked his lips and didn’t hide the heat in his eyes. But he didn’t bid. He had been quite clear in setting his terms of surrender. 

A few expletives left Carrington, who was practically licking his chops. The man motioned with his cane, and called out his bid.

A silence descended.

Sam eyed the Duke, hoping for a response to tell him if courting the Duke would be worth the effort. He certainly didn’t want to, but if the only other option was the disgusting old man, Sam realized he might just have to bury his pride a bit deeper to draw the Duke in.

Dean ran his index finger down the center of his chest, his eyes locking with Sam’s, willing him to surrender or go meet his fate with Carrington. 

Seeing the motion, Sam looked away a moment. He wanted to kick something. Or punch something. It was the old man or acknowledge he was willing to put aside his private feelings about the Duke. 

A second call was made on the old man’s bid. Sam swallowed back the bile in his throat and held up a hand to the auctioneer, asking him to hold a moment. He huffed once, then began undoing his shirt. Once unbuttoned, he opened the shirt wide, then turned to the Duke. Sam’s eyes were dark, but he met the Duke’s gaze and gave the barest of nods. He waited to see if the Duke was going to laugh and walk away, or save him from spending a month with toothless.

Despite his capitulation, Dean could see Sam’s gaze held anger, and pride, and rebellion. But any form of passion was better than none, and Sam certainly managed to stir Dean’s passions. Right from the start. 

Dean leaned over and whispered something to the man sitting next to him, then straightened and raised his hand. “Double the last offer.” 

The whole room gasped, and even Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. 

The auctioneer asked for clarification. “Double the amount of the bid, or do you mean the last increase in the bid, sir?”

“I thought I was quite clear. Double the last bid.” Patience was not one of the Duke’s virtues. “Have the contracts drawn up at once.” He was very confident that there would be no other bids.

The auctioneer repeated the bid, doing his job, and waited to see if there was a higher bid. “Sold, to the Duke of Winchester. Congratulations, your Lordship.”

Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted to celebrate or vomit. At least he had time to gather himself while the Duke paid for his companionship. He took a final look at Toothless and gave a nod to himself. The Duke was, almost assuredly, the lesser of the two evils. He hoped.

* * * 

Three tables were set up in the large study of the mansion. There, those running the auction met with the buyers to complete the sales transactions. This included the exchange of banknotes and contracts.

Dean was leaning over one of the tables and reading the terms of the agreement, when Sam was brought over. He spared the man a brief glance, then looked back at the document, wanting the process over as soon as possible. “Pen.”

Grabbing the quill that was handed to him, Dean made a few minor amendments, crossing out portions he would not agree to and initialing the changes. Then he placed his bold, distinctive signature at the bottom. Setting the quill down, he turned the paper toward Sam, Sam’s representatives and those in charge of the auction. 

Sam was familiar with the document. He’d practically pulled it apart line by line so he knew exactly what he was getting himself into. He reviewed the changes the Duke had made and gave a nod to those representing his welfare that was agreeable to the changes unless they took issue with them. Sam was handed the quill. After initialing the changes, he wrote his name in elegant script with only minor flourish. He had buttoned his shirt and put his jacket back on. He practically clicked his heels together and gave a proper bow to the Duke. “How should I address you, sir?”

“ _Grandfather_ certainly won’t do,” Dean said dryly, looking Sam over and finding nothing out of place. Telling his man of business that he was free to leave but to have his carriage brought around in half an hour, Dean put his arm out for Sam.

Sam was unaccustomed to taking another man’s arm in public. He had kept his interests in men quiet, even in his own home. Feeling a bit awkward, he straightened and accepted the offered arm. “No, sir, I don’t believe you are more than a few years my senior.” 

Dean gave a snort. Either Sam hadn’t gotten his reference to Carrington, or he was set on being formal and not enjoying himself. “Dean. That’s my name, but I think you know that,” he said, hazarding a guess from the instant dislike the man had exhibited. 

Sam was silent for a moment. “Yes, though I thought it would be presumptuous of me to call you by your first name, at least until you indicated such familiarity was appropriate in your eyes. I am well aware of your strong reaction to words you don’t wish to hear.” Sam grabbed a glass of wine from a passing tray and took a long sip. Perhaps getting soused every night would help him deal with the Duke of Avarice.

“Words have consequences. Sometimes it’s better to hold them back rather than be forced to take them back,” Dean countered, instantly deciding he would enjoy his time with Sam far more than had he been saddled with some insipid miss or lad. This one held a fire. 

“If you are implying, _Dean_ , that I regret my words earlier today, I don’t.” He gave Dean an almost sweet smile. “In the end, it is I who profited from them as I will receive a reasonable percentage of a rather outrageous bid, you must admit. And had I not gotten under your skin, you might not have paid such a fine price for my sparkling eyes and delightful personality.”

“Regret? No. But it must have been unpleasant for you to take them back, which you did when you unbuttoned your shirt.” Dean took a glass of port from a tray held out by a servant, then moved across the room with Sam. 

“Unpleasant is rising before the sun, working all day in the fields until the sun sets, getting a bowl of gruel for dinner, a flea infested mattress filled with moldy hay to sleep on, and a few coppers for the day’s work.” Sam said softly, his voice rueful. “Choosing to capitulate to bring you into the bidding… no, I wasn’t happy about it, but at least you bathe, have all your teeth, and are… pleasant to look at.” 

“Ah, so you took careful stock of my physical charms,” Dean chuckled. “At least you did not find me lacking in that department.” He took a sip of his drink, then smiled. “Carrington is quite unhappy with us. Come, let’s not waste time trading words with him. Are you hungry?” he asked. “I am told there is a buffet in the next room.”

“Carrington?” Sam asked then looked over toward where Dean indicated. “Toothless? Toothless is The Earl? Holy crap. The stories I heard don’t do him justice. I thought he was supposed to be handsome, suave, and a ladykiller!” 

“The latter is certainly true, he has outlived three wives and a few consorts.” Dean guided Sam to a group of friends and was immediately congratulated on his win. There were quite a few comments about the drama surrounding his bid. “This young man believes he goaded me into it,” Dean said, moving his hand to Sam’s back.

“You cannot trick a Winchester into parting with his money, I’ll tell you that much,” one of Dean’s friends, Edward, told Sam. “But I can certainly see why he is taken with you.”

“Perhaps you should have put your hand in your own pocket and bid,” Dean said, giving his friend a look. 

“Yes I am well aware of his dedication to seeing all debts are paid,” Sam said. “And I concur with Dean. If you liked what you saw, why didn’t you bid on me? I waited too long to open my shirt, didn’t I?” Sam said to Edward, though he gave Dean a sidelong glance.

“Perhaps if you offer yourself up next year and the competition is not as fierce,” Edward answered with a grin. “And you two must come to our holiday party. Dean, this year, I insist that you make it,” he said. 

“Perhaps. We’ll see,” Dean said, noncommittally. 

“Come on, man, we have sleigh rides, and ice skating. Samuel, do everything in your power to see that you come. Or you’ll be forced to spend a too quiet winter season, I hazard.”

“Ice skating?” Sam said, brightening instantly. He enjoyed ice skating quite a lot. It was something his mother had taught him and it reminded him of her. He gave a nod. “I will see what I can do. Dean has yet to discover what an annoying shit I can be, when I’m truly determined. And I do like ice skating. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Oh, I believe I have an inkling. Now, do you want to eat, or shall we leave and have something when we get home?” Dean asked. 

“They have a fabulous cook at the mansion. Let’s stay,” Sam said, finding that some of his appetite was returning. Besides, the longer they were in public, the less time he’d have to play the Duke’s pet boy-toy.

“Edward. Thomas,” Dean gave a nod to the men, and pressed lightly against Sam’s back, as they walked away. “We’ll eat quickly. I’m sure you cannot wait to be alone with me.” 

“I cannot deny something along those lines crossed my thoughts,” Sam said, sighing to himself. “But the cook really is extraordinary, especially his desserts.” Sam hoped Dean didn’t decide to collect some food and take it on the road back to his manor. And he really hoped the Duke didn’t have any bizarre fetishes like toe-sucking or something.

* * * 

Dean didn’t eat much. He’d lead Sam to a table of people who he knew were not dead bores and would be good company. Although he talked with them, his gaze often returned to Sam. Though the man often flashed his almost too beautiful smile on others, Dean did not miss the fact that Sam didn’t waste any of them on him. Even when he was being conciliatory, or thoughtful, or funny.

He contemplated Sam’s stance for a moment. Then he decided it would certainly make for a much more interesting season. He didn’t need to be fawned over. Nothing exhilarated him quite so much as a challenge.

When Sam finished eating, Dean immediately stood up and said his farewells. There were a few jokes about Sam being the reason for his haste. He neither answered nor acknowledged the comments, but he did place his hand around Sam’s waist as they walked away.

At the exit, a servant brought Dean’s cloak, but he motioned for the servant to place it on Sam. It was only partly because Sam’s clothes were not as warm as his own. Mostly, it was a gesture of ownership and possession. 

When the carriage pulled out of the line of waiting carriages and came to a halt in front of the manor house, he guided Sam over to it and let him get in. Instructing his driver that he wanted to get home post haste, Dean entered and sitting across from Sam, locked gazes with him. “Alone. Finally,” he said in a slightly mocking tone.

Sam gave a noncommittal nod. The food had been good, the desserts wonderful, and drinks good and bracing. He knew his father had always treated the women he’d won at auction with great courtesy and respect, and he usually gave them a night or two to settle in before wooing them into his bedroom. He suspected he would not be given equal courtesy. 

He grappled with his feelings. It would surely take some time for him to bury his grudge against the Duke, but he had promised to be good company. It was part of the deal. Therefore, he would be as civil and pleasant with the man as he rightfully should be. He would try his best. That’s all he could do.

“How do you like to pass your free time, Dean?” Sam asked. “Hopefully I am versed in your interests and won’t be a bore. I’m quite open to learning about new topics or games, so if I’m not well-versed, I will gladly learn.” Sam tried very hard to keep any sexual innuendo out of his words. That was not at all what he was implying. 

“I’m quite sure you’re anything but a bore,” Dean drawled, his gaze roving over Sam’s face and figure. “I’m a good judge of character, and would not have wasted that much money on just a pretty face.” It was true. While Sam’s looks had drawn him, the only reason he’d given the young man more than two minutes of his time was because there was something there, beyond his looks. 

“And you are deft at avoiding questions,” Sam said. “Or you’re a businessman who is all about getting done what needs to be done quickly and efficiently with no natter or play.” Sam adjusted the cloak a little. The carriage was a little cold, even sealed up tight as it was.

“There’s a time for business and a time for play. I keep them separate, but engage fully in both,” Dean answered. He pulled open a side drawer, and drew out a flask and a glass. Pouring some liquor into it, he offered it to Sam. “Of course, you’ll be even warmer if you sit on my lap.”

Sam barely refrained from giving the man a dirty look, but accepted the drink. “The fact that you chose to sit across from me rather than beside me implied that you wished for conversation on the way to your home. And honestly, if you wish for me to sit on your lap, you really will need to purchase a carriage with a taller cabin.”

“Believe me, I’m fully capable of warming you up and carrying a conversation at the same time,” Dean answered. “And it was a suggestion. A way to pass the time. If it had been an order, I’d have been more direct.” He pulled the curtains to one side for a moment, looking out, then let them go. 

Sam did give him a dirty look this time. “I don’t take well to orders. I tend to have issues with authority,” he said. “I am your consort. I am not your slave. If it’s a slave you’re wanting, I’ll default on the contract, make certain your money is returned, and go to Toothless Asshole. And I appreciate your concern and recognizing I’m a bit cold. I would not be against sitting beside you, sharing the cape. But this cold is trivial compared to the cold I’ve endured over the past month.”

“Clearly, you have made up your mind about my character, and intent, or you’ve built some sort of fantasy up in your mind. Let me make it clear to you now. I don’t care.” Dean leaned forward, his eyes and tone now as cold as steel. “As my consort, you may speak with me in this manner when we’re alone, but I forbid you to do it in front of others. And if you wish to tear up the contract because I _will_ occasionally order you to do something, as I just did, then tell me right now, and I will have the carriage turned around before we’re half way across the country.” He meant every word. 

Sam stared at him a moment. “And clearly your character is not so far off from what I imagine, because that is a large part of my ‘fantasy’ of you. That you, simply. Don’t. Care.” His jaw clenched for a moment, then he forced his muscles to relax and he took a calming breath. “I know my place as a consort. I would do nothing nor say anything that would be misconstrued by others as evidence that I consider myself your _equal_ in any fashion. I expect there to be orders at times. How you couch them will impact my response. Regardless, I’m simply stating that I respond less well to orders than if you treat me as more than your dog to be fucked.” Sam tilted his head down a bit, his gaze intense on the Duke. “If you don’t like what you’ve purchased and do want a dog, which I will not be, then make your choice. If you want an attentive lover, if you want the ‘amazing’ that I promised those who bid on me, then,” Sam shrugged, “don’t expect me to lick your boots. Expect me to polish them until they shine. Make your choice.”

Dean’s eyes darkened with anger, though his expression remained cool and impassive. “You implied that my suggestion was an order, and then you brought up slavery in the absence of any orders that should have made you feel mistreated in that manner. I have treated you with nothing less than respect--”

Sam saw Dean’s growing anger and listened to his sharp, biting words. No, he didn’t mean to say those things--yet he had. But it wasn’t what he meant and he could fully see _how_ what he’d said to the man could be more than a bit offensive. Hastily he held up a hand and interrupted. “Please, I’m sorry. You are correct. I said things that, honestly, sounded more appropriate in my head. This is my first time doing anything quite like this. I feel awkward and maybe I have read things into your words that aren’t there at all.” Sam looked down at his hands. He was furious at what this man had done, that this man had put him in this position of poverty, only to buy him for the holidays. It didn’t help that it was his first Christmas without his father. “My issues aren’t yours and I have been more than a bit rude in our banter. Forgive me. May we begin again? I will try to be more of what the contract says I should be.” He paused and gave Dean a small but genuine smile. “But I can’t deny I tend to buck authority, no matter my intentions.”

Dean had a lot more to say. He’d been very close to making good on his threat to return Sam, but he slowly sat back against the cushions. “For the record, you’re far more likely to find dog fucking at Carrington manor than with me. And just where the hell did you pick up such imagery and language?” He started to loosen his cravat, not expecting an answer. He licked his lips. “If I’d wanted someone completely submissive, I dare say numbers 1 through 8, 14 through 18, and 20 would have all fit the bill.” 

“I read a lot, some stories which might have been considered a bit inappropriate to my former station,” Sam said, his eyes growing distant as he recalled his father finding a few of the underground press that Sam liked to read. His father had nearly had a heart attack then. “I will say that if you didn’t want submissive,” he gave soft huff of laughter, “you chose well. And exactly which imagery and language was it that you liked? So I can file it away for future use when I’ve again pissed you off. Which will probably happen more frequently than I care to admit.” He gave the man another smile, this time letting his dimples show. Might as well try to keep the conversation as civil as possible and he had the suspicion Winchester liked his dimples.

“Dog fucking, boot licking, take your pick.” Dean found himself smiling back before he knew it, which he found a bit irritating since he liked to be in control of himself. “So you’re booksmart. All those…” he waved his hand, “moves you made at the auction, things you read about?” he asked. “Are you feigning experience or…”   
Sam couldn’t help himself and laughed. “Ah. Phrases like that would infuriate my father when I wanted to get him riled up. The moves… some were shown to us as ways to entice the bidding higher. The clothes are tailored to show us off a certain way when bending over or moving in a certain way.” He studied Dean. “I don’t know about experience. What are you hoping for? Do you want me well-versed or do you prefer the almost innocent young man who’s barely shook his pudding with someone else?”

“Shook his…” Dean tossed his head back and laughed. Suddenly needing a drink himself, he reached into the drawer. “So you plan to be whichever I prefer? You’re being far too conciliatory, should I fear for my life?” Sam might have been taught some of those moves, but they’d come to him naturally. And he had a mouth on him. Dean had an inkling that he was in fact experienced. 

“Perhaps I plan to be the exact opposite of what you prefer. Do you want a sweet innocent,” he gave Dean his best puppy dog, wide-eyed look, “or do you want an old hand,” his right hand began sliding up and down his empty glass as Sam’s eyes roved heatedly over Dean’s body, “who knows just how much pressure and twist a man enjoys.” He held out his own glass for a refill.

“Just the fact that you know that?” Dean said, lifting a finger off his glass and pointing it at Sam, “tells me you’re no novice.” And it wasn’t just what Sam said, but the way he looked at him, the way he knew how to make a man hot with just a few words and gestures. Licking his lips, Dean poured for Sam. “In my book, there’s nothing better than an old hand playing the part of an innocent. Or an innocent, pretending at knowledge.” He met Sam’s gaze and didn’t hide the heat in his own. 

Sam gave him an annoyed look. “And so no matter which part I play, it suits you. You do take all the fun out of a good game. You still haven’t bothered to tell me your favorite hobbies. Must I guess?”

“Well, if you insist. I like long drives in carriages, with a warm, willing partner in my arms, and a full on rainstorm outside,” Dean said, one corner of his lips tugging up. 

“Hmm, pity then. I think it’s started to snow,” Sam answered, returning the smirk without missing a beat.

“It’s a double pity, really. No warm and willing partner, either.” Lifting his glass, Dean said, “cheers,” and drank it all down.

Sam lifted his own glass, faltering for a moment, then downing his own liquor. After a moment of thought, he set the glass aside, and half-stood, leaning across the carriage, his hands on either side of the back of Dean’s seat. He kissed Dean, letting the heat ramp up just a little, before he allowed a bump to disengage their lips and pushed off, sitting back on the cushions.

Dean hadn’t expected the kiss. He fought against his instincts and managed not to pull Sam over to his side of the carriage. Instead, he allowed the man to simply kiss him. Except there was nothing simple about the kiss. Even if it was over too quickly, it set Dean’s blood on fire. “It’s going to be a long ride. I can only imagine what you’re like in bed,” he said truthfully, running his thumb over his burning lips. 

“I snore rather loudly I’m told,” Sam answered, licking his lips. The thought that he could have just been kissing Toothless, made the Duke’s kiss significantly more pleasant.

“I have an adjoining room, where you can sleep,” Dean countered, his gaze lingering on Sam’s lips. He craved another kiss, especially once Sam’s tongue darted out. 

“Ah. So you get the wet and mussed bedding. I approve,” Sam said, smiling innocently at him.

“That mouth of yours… it’s trouble in more ways than one,” Dean answered, once again surprised by Sam’s bluntness. “Why don’t you put it to good use? Tell me, what do you see us doing to get it wet and mussed.” He pointed at Sam and gave him a warning, “Don’t say wrestling and drinking…”

Sam leaned across, glancing to either side of the carriage before returning his gaze to Dean. “Signing any contract without reading the fine print, ‘t is dangerous. Consort. Latin. Con. Together. Sor. Destiny.” He pointed at Dean, then pointed to himself then brought his fist up, stuck his index finger inside, and pumped it in and out rapidly. Sitting back he gave Dean a knowing if grave look. “Or so I’m told that’s what the contract was about.”

“Seems you read that paragraph carefully.” The vulgar movement of Sam’s hand got to Dean. This time he half stood, leaned forward, and brought his mouth down over Sam’s, in a hard, hungry kiss. It was a prelude to what would pass between them later, a mere taste. It was with some difficulty that he tore his mouth away, then backed down to his seat. His eyes glowed with the heat of his passion. “There’ll be plenty of that,” he nodded at Sam’s hand. “I guaranty it.”

“You, sir, are easily roused and riled,” Sam said and then wiped his finger and thumb over his mouth. “A bit on the sloppy side, but we can work on that.” He pushed away the heat he found growing inside him after that kiss, refusing to acknowledge the desire Dean had surprisingly brought to the surface. 

“Finally.” Dean waited for Sam to look at him. “You understand me,” Dean said. He did have a temper, and this man could rouse him without even trying. That much was clear. Having never been accused of being sloppy kisser before, Dean merely grinned. “I plan to. Work on _that_. A lot.” 

The carriage rocked as it rolled over something, causing Dean to bump his knee against Sam’s. He rapped on the ceiling and called out, “Mind the road, Humphreys.”

“You seem rather enthusiastic about all this considering the commotion you made when you lost to a woman and she told you to go shopping for company.” Sam had paid very close attention to anything anyone said about the Duke, and he’d heard that rumor in three or four various forms, suggesting there was probably truth in it.

“You have an ear for gossip. That or you’re more interested in me than you thought,” Dean pointed out, a little irritated that his business had been spread about. But it had been a public game of cards, so he wasn’t surprised. “I will admit, I’ve been more amused in the past few hours than I have in quite a while. In answer to your question, this loss does not feel so much a loss, as a win. And it could very easily have turned out differently.” He licked his lips, “Yes, it’s a compliment. And no, I’m not expecting a return compliment.”

“Huh.” Sam was silent for a moment. “As we’re kept back behind the curtains until it is our turn to be auctioned, I’m curious. Had you bid on and lost others before I came up for bid? Or was I your hoped for goal? Ah, perhaps you even put Toothless up to bidding on me,” Sam said, obviously teasing about the last comment.

“You can only win once and I’d already made you an offer of sorts. I always keep my end of a bargain, so I waited to bid on you. If you’d chosen Carrington, there were two others that I was interested in.” He didn’t tell Sam his interest had been mild. “19 and 21. I believe Edward’s brother won 19, so if you do manage to talk me into going to his Christmas party, we’re sure to run into them.”

“Ice skating is promised. We are most definitely going,” Sam said. “And sleigh rides can be rather romantic and there is usually quite the need to warm up after a sleigh ride. Perhaps with some strenuous exercise. Perhaps some sword fighting.” Sam yawned suddenly. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, nervous as to how the day was going to go. Not the best of outcomes, but not the absolute worst either.

“I trust you’ll find a way to convince me.” Dean gave a nod. “Rest. We still have quite the drive. “There’s an extra cushion here,” he said, passing it to Sam. “I’d offer my shoulder, but you’ll surely ascribe my offer to a nefarious reason.” He could see straight through Sam. The man was doing a good job of hiding his feelings, but the anger or hate was still there, brewing beneath the surface.

Sam was surprised by the offer, but suspected it might be because Dean wanted him awake and ready to go once they reached his home. They would probably pass the former Wesson estate on the way. Yes, best he be asleep or he might do something truly foolish like choke the life out of the Duke.

Accepting the pillow, Sam settled back and closed his eyes, wishing this was all just a fever-dream and he’d awake to his father’s worried face. 

* * * 

By the time they crossed into the Winchester estates, it was the wee hours of the morning. A few staff members came out to greet them.

Sam gave a couple yawns and shook his head to try to wake up some.

“I’ll go rouse your valet,” the butler said to Dean.

“No, I won’t be needing him. Is Sam’s chaperone in residence?”

“Yes Your Lordship.” The servant looked at Sam, then back at Dean.

“Tell her to make herself scarce. I don’t want to see her except when she is called.”

“Aye Your Lordship.”  
Grasping Sam’s wrist, Dean pulled him inside the large manor house, his country home. “I’ll give you a tour tomorrow, or someone else will,” he promised, taking Sam to the large marble stairs and heading up.

A servant ran up behind them and started undoing Sam’s cloak. “I’m sorry Sir, you went off so fast. I’ll just…”

Dean never stopped walking and forced Sam to come with him, ignoring the servant’s puffed breaths. At last, the man had the cloak and was scurrying away. Dean wore a slight smile. “He’s new and scared by his own shadow. And my reputation. It’s quite entertaining.”

“You do have something of a reputation,” Sam said, letting Dean drag him where he would.

Then they walked through a long hall with large paintings hanging on the walls. At the far end was a portrait of Dean’s father, his expression severe. Dean always called that particular painting the one of his father ‘smiling.’

He pushed open the door to his bed chambers. The oil lamps were lit, as was the fire. “You’ll warm up soon enough,” he said, putting his hand on Sam’s back, and guiding him inside.

“I’m not too cold. Been warmer the past week or two than I have since the colder weather arrived. Thank you for the use of your cloak.” Giving a yawn and scrubbing his face he looked around the fancy room. It was fancier than his had ever been, with exotic woods making up the furniture, elaborate embroidery on the curtains, and thick rugs on the floor. “Just from what I’ve seen, you’ve a beautiful place. Where might I relieve myself and perhaps get a bit of fresh water to help rouse me so I am good company?” Sam was too tired to verbally spar with Dean. If Dean wanted sexual favors tonight, Sam would simply give him what he wanted without a fight, though without much enthusiasm. He’d always favored foreplay and he wasn’t sure the Duke was interested in such games.

“The bath chamber is through those doors,” Dean said, nodding towards them. “There’s a fresh night shirt for you over there,” he pointed at the flowing silken shirt folded over the back of a chair. “And there’s no need to rouse yourself. I find myself tired.”

“As you wish,” Sam said, relieved. He walked into the bath chamber and took care of necessities, finding a brush and some paste set out for him. He quickly brushed his teeth and used a bit of water to freshen up, then returned to the bedroom and crossed to the night shirt. Before beginning to undress himself, he turned to Dean who was standing in the middle of the room. “Would you like assistance changing into you night shirt?”.

“No. Thank you,” he said. “Contrary to popular opinion, I’m perfectly capable of getting out of my own clothes. Unless you’re offering as a matter of interest,” Dean said, raising his brow, and giving a smirk.

Sam gave him a mild glare, simply irritated by the man’s smirk and tone. It was more a matter of being irritated at one who seemed far too chipper when all Sam wanted to do was fall back asleep in a comfortable bed. “If you want me to ravish you, rip your clothes off, or anything besides spooning with you during these late hours, you need only ask.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Would you like to be pounced?” he asked. 

“Ready yourself for bed, and go to sleep. I prefer you when you’re not inviting orders,” Dean answered, his annoyance showing. “Well, go on.” Turning his back, Dean took his waistcoat off and started to undo his elaborately tied cravat. 

Sam gave a shrug. Dean was a strange man, he decided. He shed his coat, removed his cravat, and began unbuttoning his shirt. He carefully hung each item up on hangers provided. The auction house had provided him with a second set of clothes for more of a daily purpose, and he would wear those in the morning proper. Shaking open the silk shirt, he glanced over at Dean. “Would you like a fresh look at what you purchased before I cover it with the night shirt?” he asked. Dean had been adamant about Sam having his shirt open so he might as well take a look at him shirtless, if he was so inclined.

Dean turned around, ready to tell Sam to get his sleep in the adjoining room, but his temper cooled the instant he saw Sam tug at the buttons at the top of his shirt, revealing his skin. “Proceed,” Dean commanded, his loins tightening just as they had at the auction house. “Slowly,” he added, annoyed that he was falling into Sam’s game, acting the part of master to slave, but unable to help himself.

Sam rolled his eyes. “As you wish,” he said and slowly undid each button, spreading his shirt wider as he went. When he reached his waist, he pulled his shirt free and continued to unbutton the shirt until it was finally fully open. Turning his back to Dean, he let the shirt slide slowly off his shoulders, revealing more and more of his muscular back until the shirt fluttered to the ground. Sam reached down and picked it up, hanging it with his coat, then turned back to face Dean and spread his hands. “I trust you are pleased with what you see?”

Dean licked his lips and gave an almost imperceptible nod. “You’ll do.” He took a few steps as he discarded his own clothes, his eyes on Sam as he walked around him. “Now go to bed, before I change my mind,” he said, his voice husky with need.

Sam slipped the night shirt on, sat down on the bed and began removing his boots. He quickly shucked his pants, but left his socks on to keep his feet warm. After hanging everything else up he flipped back the thick down quilt and began to slip into bed.

Quickly, Dean finished undressing, leaving his clothes on the chair. Walking to the bed, he pulled his own nightshirt out from under the pillow and put it on. Then he motioned with his hand. “Move to the other side. I sleep here.” 

It took Sam a moment to react, as he was still processing the sight of the Duke’s muscular body. This was no soft man of noble blood, but someone who obviously kept fit. He was also startled by the faint criss-crossing of scars on Dean’s back. His own father had thumped him now and again, whenever he needed a swift kick in the butt to get back in order, and he’d had his share of a good switch on his ass. But his father had never punished him so as to leave scars. Welts, certainly, but not like what had obviously befallen Dean. Seeing Dean’s impatient look he gave a start and quickly moved to the far side, settling into the heavenly comfortable bed. 

Pulling the covers up, Dean sat on the bed, and scooted over as soon as Sam made room for him. Moving closer, he put his arm around Sam and spooned behind him, holding him as if they’d been intimate with each other for eons. 

Sam didn’t flinch, didn’t stiffen, but didn’t relax back into Dean as he might a lover. He was content to simply fall asleep in comfort and warmth and hoped Dean didn’t decide to wake him with a surprise in the morning.

* * *

The sun hadn’t even risen yet when Sam found himself awake. He wasn’t really surprised. He’d always been something of an early riser, and even more so since he’d joined the ranks of the poor. Getting up before the sun rose meant he could make himself presentable, and get out early on the hunt for jobs, or in some cases, go to temporary jobs he’d secured that lasted a couple days or fortnights.

But it was strange to awaken at such an early hour in such a warm and comfortable bed with the heat of another behind him. He simply laid there for a short while, listening to Dean breathe. The fire was dim but there was still the occasional crackle from the fireplace. He could hear the distant muffled sounds of the house servants rousing and beginning their duties.

Finally Sam slipped from the bed, careful not to jostle it. Dean’s arm didn’t prevent his escape, so he stood, pulled off his silk nightshirt and quickly dressed in his second simpler suit. It was much warmer than the fancy suit he’d been in the night prior.

Following his nose, he found his way to the kitchen where the cooks were beginning the meals for the day. They all practically froze when they saw him.

“I’m Samuel,” he said simply. “I’m the guest the Duke brought back with him last night.” The servants glanced at each other, and Sam could see they realized exactly who Sam was. “Where I grew up, I rose early. Since I was up, I often helped the servants tend the animals in the morning, and I find I’m restless. I don’t know how soon the Duke will rise and I’d enjoy feeding and grooming the horses or collecting fresh eggs perhaps. Might there be a simple task like that I could do, something that I can easily stop if the Duke rises and requests my presence?” He looked around the kitchen, unsure who was in charge or could direct him to the person in charge. 

“Good morrow to you, Master Sam,” Cook said, giving the handsome young man a broad smile. “Ah, here comes Mr. Humphries. He will take you above stairs, where you belong.”

Having walked in and overheard, the elderly butler shook his head. “It is not seemly for you to be down here. Please follow me.” He looked over his shoulder at the cook. “A petite breakfast, to the blue salon, if you please.”

The cook nodded.

“Master Sam.” The butler did not sound subservient at all as he gestured for Sam to follow him to the stairs. He’d been running the manor for decades and took orders from no one but the Duke.

Sam sighed. “I didn’t want to wake the Duke. And I’ve missed… I always enjoyed the horses. I thought I might...Yeah. Stupid idea,” he said following after the butler. “Perhaps there is a book I could read until the Duke awakens?”

“Come rain or shine, the Duke is at the stables at 8:30 sharp every morning. I’ll make sure riding clothes are brought out for you, if you’ll be joining him.” When they reached the top of the stairs and were back in the main house, the butler stopped. “Would you prefer your breakfast be served in the library? It will be just a bit of tea and toast, and then a full breakfast will be served after the Duke’s ride.”

“If the Duke is amenable to company with his morning ride, I would enjoy riding with him very much. It doesn’t really matter to me where I eat or what book I read. It’s probably best to place me whichever place is closest to his lordship,” Sam said. He wondered if any books from what had been his father’s library were now scattered in with the Duke’s books. 

“They’re equally distant as they are on the ground floor.” Deciding that Master Sam must feel lost, the butler started to head down the hall again. “In a day or so you’ll feel at home,” he said. 

“Once I learn the Duke’s schedule, I’ll be more comfortable, knowing when he gets up, eats, his favorite foods and drinks, how he oversees squabbles, whatever. It’s just all very… odd, to be here.” Sam glanced over the artwork on the walls as he walked, but really his mind was elsewhere. It was back home, on his own estate where he was his own master. He gave a slight shake of his head and huff of laughter. Being evicted and destitute, that was even worse. He reminded himself this was just for a month. Then he could disappear, buy a small cottage, and maybe apprentice himself to a farrier or something.

“He can certainly use the company.” There was a smile in the butler’s tone. “Right, this is the blue salon. There are a few books on the shelf. I believe they are travel books. The music room is the adjoining room, and there are music related texts in there. I’ll have the tea brought to you in a moment, unless you prefer coffee as does the Duke.” The butler’s expressive face reflected his complete bafflement at the Duke’s choice.

“Coffee? Really?” Sam said. He’d had an opportunity to try it occasionally but his father preferred tea and coffee was a bit expensive. “I’ll have a cup with breakfast proper. For now, some hot tea with cream will suit. Thank you.”

“Sir.” Giving a nod, the butler left Sam to his own devices.

*

Sam had long finished his toast and was through his second cup of tea, busy reading a book about a safari to Africa. He’d found some parchment in the next room along with some ink and he jotted down a few notes. Some of the animals he had heard of, a few he had even seen, but many were new to him and he wanted to remember their names and traits. There were other things the book talked about that interested him as well, such as the food and the habits of the tribes the safari encountered and the descriptions of the lands. Perhaps… perhaps he would go to Africa instead of staying close to too many painful memories. 

The Duke’s voice could be heard coming down the hall as he spoke with his secretary walking besides him and furiously taking notes.

“Reschedule my meeting with Squire Thompson for two days hence. Make sure he does not bring his sniveling offspring along. Tell Adler I need him to review the accounts as I’ve found some errors.”

“Aye your Lordship.”

“Also tell him to withhold any investments in the Ariana until we are provided with proof that Lloyd’s is insuring the shipment. I don’t want to be caught with my pants down should she sink or be taken by pirates. Has the work started on the cottages on the north side of the estate?”

“I don’t rightly know--”

“Why don’t you know?” Dean demanded, his expression, one of irritation. “Find out before I’m back from my ride,” he ordered, stopping in the door frame of the blue salon, his gaze landing on Sam. 

Sam folded the parchment in half and used it to mark his place in the book as he closed it and rose to his feet. He gave Dean a proper bow. “Your Lordship, I am at your service. Would you like for me to accompany you on your morning ride? I would enjoy seeing your fine estate if you would not mind the company?” 

“You’re dismissed for now,” Dean told his secretary, then strode into the room. “It is your company that I came to seek out,” Dean told Sam, ignoring the bow and closing his arms around him. Slanting his mouth across Sam’s, he kissed him like a lover he’d missed, and not the stranger that that he was. Breaking the kiss before it got heated, he stepped back. “Good morning, and yes, by all means, if you’re an early riser, ride with me every morning.”

Sam was startled by the familiar kiss and it took him a moment to respond. By the time he started to, the kiss was already over and he felt flustered and out of sync with the man. He gave a hasty nod. “Yes, I have always risen early. Mr. Humphries indicated he would provide appropriate riding clothes for me. What does your morning ride consist of? Just for pleasure? Checking the estate for damages or losses?”

“Mostly pleasure. Yes, do go change. I believe it’s a brisk morning,” he said, looking out the window. Meet me at the stables.” He started to walk out, then turned. “Is something amiss? You don’t seem yourself this morning.” 

“No, I am just… right now everything is new and a surprise. I don’t know the ins and outs of your household, when things are expected, when and where you find public displays of affection permissible. I will be more at ease within a few days, I’m certain. I wasn’t sure if you’d be upset that I wasn’t in your bed when you awoke this morn, but I feared if I stayed, I’d wake you long before you were accustomed to rising.” Sam licked his lips. “I am not used to having so little idea of the things happening around me and what is right and what is wrong. It’s unsettling.”

“In other words, you’ll find your sharp tongue in a few days? Excellent,” Dean actually grinned. 

“This way, Master Sam,” Humphries said, staring wide-eyed at the Duke as he ushered Sam into the hall and towards the stairs. “That is not something we see every day. No, indeed it is not,” the butler muttered under his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

After helping Sam get into his riding clothes, the valet told him that the tailor would visit in the afternoon. Sam was to be measured for new clothing.

Then the valet ushered Sam to the stairs. “It’s almost eight-thirty. His Lordship insists on punctuality. He will leave precisely on time,” he cautioned

Dean was already mounted, his horse snorting and pawing, as anxious as its rider to get under way. A saddled horse was being calmed by the stable hand, who looked relieved when he saw a tall, broad-shouldered man walking towards them.

Sam gave a slight nod to Dean, not bothering to apologize for making Dean wait. It wasn’t as if he’d dallied. He’d had to try on a few different items before finding clothes that fit him adequately. Walking around his horse, he picked up its right leg and glanced briefly at the hoof, noting the horseshoe it was shod with and confirming that the hoof had been recently cleaned. Satisfied, he mounted the horse. “What’s his name, lad?” Sam asked the stable boy, giving the horse’s neck a calming rub. It was as anxious to be out as Dean and his horse appeared to be.

“Jericho, sir,” the boy answered. “He’s quite-spirited, sir, and likes to jump.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, and then gave Dean a nod. “At your convenience, Your Lordship.” He was quite ready for Dean to take off at a full gallop considering the way his horse was prancing about.

Dean gave a nod, approving of the fact that Sam was quite clearly a horseman. “Come on Zeus, let’s put you through your paces,” he said, patting his horse before taking off, confident that Sam would follow or catch up.

Giving a click with his tongue and pressure with his knees, Sam gave Jericho rein to take off after Zeus and the horse didn’t disappoint. Jericho seemed delighted to be allowed to stretch his legs and comfortable with the obvious competency of his rider. He quickly caught up with Zeus. Since Sam didn’t know the terrain, he didn’t want to learn it the hard way and at a full gallop, so he let Dean keep a nose in front of his own horse as his gaze scanned the road and surrounding lands. 

After a while, Dean glanced over and found himself admiring Sam’s form. Aye, he’d made the right choice. Now if only the man would irritate him less.

“Through the woods,” he said, “watch for branches.” It was all the warning he gave before his horse veered and raced for the tree line. The forest wasn’t thick in this area and a good bit of sun penetrated through. It had rained overnight and fresh scent of leaves and bark was strong in the air.

Sam swore a little under his breath as he wheeled his horse around to follow behind Zeus. Mud would be a hazard if they made any sharp turns, and the stable boy's warning came back to him. Jericho enjoyed jumping. Sam gave Jericho free rein since he assumed the horse knew the territory to some extent, and he could watch Zeus.

They crested a small hill and Dean took his horse down toward the small creek below, slowing. Sam followed and felt when Jericho’s muscles bunched. Jericho obviously had no intentions of getting his hooves wet in the creek and leapt across the creek gracefully then raced up the next hill. Sam slowed him once they’d reached the top, waiting for Zeus to catch up this time. Jericho gave a huff, probably horse for I beat your ass, Zeus. Sam couldn’t help but chuckle and patted his neck.

Dean pulled on the reins, so Zeus circled around Jericho as he looked Sam up and down. “You handle yourself very well, and Jericho is not an easy horse,” he admitted. 

“Jericho is a fine horse, so long as you give him the opportunity to stretch his legs and show off a bit,” Sam said. Jericho was already beginning to prance, wanting to get going again. “He certainly has his own mind about things. As for my riding skills, I think I could ride before I could walk.”

“Excellent, then you’re prepared for more challenging terrain. It’ll be worth the ride,” Dean promised, circling one last time then tightening his knees. Zeus immediately took off, and if Dean wasn’t mistaken, the horse was miffed at having been overtaken. “Let our guest have his day,” Dean whispered, then bent down to avoid an overhead branch.

The wood thickened, forcing Dean to go at a slightly reduced speed. He purposely selected routes that would allow the horses to jump over fallen tree trunks and narrow streams, and then they were riding uphill. It was a steep ride, and not too short, and when they reached the crest, he pulled back. Zeus’ breaths, and his own misted in front of them. 

They were on the edge of the cliffs, with the water pounding against them below. 

Sam had enjoyed the ride and the challenge, though he had taken a branch or two to the face. He dismounted and began walking his horse, giving Jericho a chance to cool off as he walked slowly along the cliffs, breathing in the salt air. “It was definitely worth the ride,” Sam agreed. Seeing a wooden bench made from an old tree, he walked over to it, dropping the reins onto the ground. Jericho stood in place just as if he was at a hitching post. “I take it you come here a lot.”

For a moment, Dean felt uneasy at someone else sitting on his bench. The feeling passed quickly, particularly since he was the one who’d brought Sam to this spot. He’d never brought anyone before, and it hadn’t truly been his intention to come to this specific spot at all.

Dismounting, he patted Zeus’ snout, then walked to the bench and sat down. “Not as often as I once used to,” he said, looking out over the gray waters. “I made this bench. Carved it out of one of the trunks. I’d come home with my hands bloodied and Humphries would demand to know what I’d been up to.” Straightening his long legs, he crossed them at the ankles, and twisted slightly toward Sam, studying his countenance.

“Generally when one carves, the blade should be focused on the wood, not the flesh,” Sam said dryly. “I imagine this has to be quite beautiful in the spring. So Humphries has been your caretaker since you were a lad? How long ago did you take over the Winchester estate and title?”

Dean gave a chuckle of agreement, but then he’d been a child and had no business playing with a blade. “Seven years now,” he said. “My father had a riding accident.” His gaze flicked to Zeus, then back to Sam. “I was twenty-one at the time. How old are you?” he asked, “Twenty-four? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-four,” Sam said, looking out to sea. “Though I feel much older. And now I have to decide what to do with the rest of my life. Not something I’d ever considered.”

“You don’t have to make any quick decisions. If you invest the monies you earned and aren’t given to gambling or being a spendthrift, you ought to be able to make a comfortable life for yourself.” Dean had done the math in his head. “But as to what you want to do…” Dean closed his eyes for a moment. “Travel. It’s what I would do,” he said. 

“I was reading a book you’ve got, African Safari, and was thinking that might be something interesting to do,” Sam agreed. He knew it was only wishful thinking. It would be all too easy to fritter away his limited funds if he began to travel. He’d liked having a home, something familiar to come back to. At least before the Duke had ripped it from him. “So why don’t you travel? You’ve certainly got enough money.”

“I’ve traveled for months at a time, but a full year?” A wistful expression crossed Dean’s face. “Perhaps if I’d had a younger brother I trusted, or a close relative to watch over my holdings. But they’re mostly layabouts who would waste my assets and wreck everything I’ve built up. No, it’s not for me,” he said. “Africa. If you do make it there, you’ll have to write to me. This is a good time to pretend you like me and agree,” he added. 

Sam glanced at him. “Absolutely. I’ll write you every day. At least until I am eaten by a lion or stomped on by an elephant.” He gave a slight smile then as he considered the possibilities. “If I’m killed, then I could return and haunt you until I drive you mad. Hmm, something worthwhile to consider.”

“I warn you, if you haunt me, I will go to Africa, find your bones, and salt and burn them. That,” he pointed at Sam, “sends a ghost to where it belongs.” He expected any letters he received from Sam, or anyone else, would be the usual requests for monetary aid. He was used to it. Everyone wanting something from him.

“That’s one way you could finally get in a nice long trip as you’ll have a lot of lion crap to dig through to find all my bones. And If I’m stomped to death by an elephant, I’ll have the local tribe scatter my bones in all corners of Africa. And I’ll haunt and taunt and badger you the entire way.” Sam rubbed his chin. “Yes. I like this plan. I at least now know what I’ll do with my afterlife, even if I don’t know what to do with my current life.”

“You’re definitely devious, I’ll have to watch out for you.” Dean took Sam’s hand, and held it for a long moment. Then he got up, pulling Sam up with him. “Time for breakfast.”

Sam watched Dean, seeing the flicker of emotions he couldn’t quite name cross the man’s features. “When did you last have a long term lover?” he asked.

“Ask me again in a month, and I’ll be able to give you a name,” Dean answered truthfully. It was part of the reason he wasn’t overly angry at Missouri. A part of him wanted to fall under a fantasy, even if he was ever the realist. 

Sam’s brow lifted and he gave a nod. “On to breakfast, then,” he said, walking over to Jericho. “And who do you think will be the fastest to reach the stables?” he asked as he mounted the stallion. He might not know the fastest way back to the stables, but he had no doubt Jericho did.

“You’re very confident, aren’t you? No matter. If you win, you owe me a kiss, and if you lose, you owe me a kiss.” Smirking, Dean waited a second until Sam was ready, and started the race.

The wind rushed past him. The quiet of the woods was only broken by the sounds of their horses’ hooves pounding against the ground. Each time he thought he’d pulled quite ahead, Sam caught up, spurring Dean on. 

Sam urged the horse on, letting the horse decide for itself what jumps to make. He focused only on encouraging the horse faster and staying well seated and well balanced so as not to make the horse’s gait falter.

It had been a long time since he’d let a horse he was riding run full out. Certainly there were fox hunts, but this was different. This was a race. And he wanted to beat Dean. More than just about anything shy of the welfare of the horse.

They broke out of the woods and crossed the meadows and fields at full gallop. Dean was used to winning. At everything. Not because of a foolish thing called luck, but because of practice and hard work. Nothing piqued his interest as much as a worthy competitor. Nothing. 

They were on the last leg of their ride, the stables now visible. He rose slightly and leaned forward, “Olympus, Zeus,” he called out, eyes focused only on his goal.

“C’mon, Jericho. Apples are waiting!” Sam promised the horse. The long legs of the horse stretched out as its lungs bellowed and it charged forward, giving no quarter. Jericho edged forward until the last moment when the horse put on a final burst of speed, reaching the first set of gates a full length ahead of Zeus. Sam gave a shout of triumph and pumped his fist in the air as he let the horse slow down. Looking over at Dean, he gave him a smug smile as he patted the horse, showering him with compliments and promises of fresh apples.

“Well done!” Dean shouted, enthusiastically, as he brought his own horse to an almost standstill. “Zeus and I will have a talk later, about being put out to pasture.” The horse neighed, and Dean patted it again, and expertly brought his horse around, so that he and Sam were facing each other. 

“I do believe you owe me something,” he said, his gaze lingering on Sam’s lips, before rising to his slightly flushed face. 

“Apparently, riding lessons,” Sam said and goosed his horse forward then dismounted. He handed the reins to a stableboy. “I promised him a couple apples if he beat Zeus. Make sure he gets them. He needs a good cool down, too. We raced from the cliffs.” He turned and faced Dean. “I may owe you something, but since I won, I get to decide when to give it to you.”

“You are a born tease.” Dean was chagrined, and didn’t bother to hide his displeasure as he dismounted. Slapping his horse lightly on the rear, he started to head for the manor, giving Sam a sidelong look. Although Dean was good at reading people, this particular man was a complete mystery to him. Dean couldn’t decide whether he liked it or hated it.

“I haven’t begun to show you what a tease I can be,” Sam said, giving Dean a cool look, even if a bit of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He had enjoyed that race more than he probably should have. Or maybe it was just because he’d beaten the Duke on what was obviously the Duke’s favorite horse. One thing he did know was that he’d certainly worked up an appetite.

* * *  
Except on special occasions like holidays or birthdays, Sam was accustomed to a solid, fairly simple meal that would stick to one’s ribs. That would usually be followed by a light lunch, if time permitted. Dinners were more formal, at least when his father was in residence. When his father was out, Sam often ate while someone played a musical instrument such as a harp or piano or lute. Afterwards, he would go over the affairs of the day and review the tasks he’d accomplished. Then he would retire to read, unless he decided to go out. 

Breakfast at the Winchester manor was a much fancier ordeal. The selection of meats and breads, fruit and cream, eggs mixed with cheese and vegetables, boggled the mind. Sam hardly knew where to start and wondered how many courses breakfast might consist of.

“Are breakfast always so thorough?” Sam asked. “And how many others are joining us?”

Dean helped himself to a selection of meats and cheeses, and ordered his eggs the way he wanted them. “There are no others. I thought we’d get to know each other, and then perhaps go on some outings. Don’t worry, I won’t allow you to get bored,” he promised. 

“I realize you have duties to attend to. I doubt I would become bored. Especially now that I’ve made the acquaintance of Jericho and have been introduced to your books.” Sam began making some selections. Everything looked delicious. “And what do you want to know about me and my sharp tongue?”

Dean chuckled, knowing exactly where he wanted that sharp tongue. He didn’t have to say anything, the look he gave Sam was enough. 

Sam rolled his eyes and gave a soft huff. Yeah, the Duke was interested in getting to know him in only one way. And for a moment he’d actually thought Dean was serious about wanting to know more about him. How stupid could he be?

“Perhaps you should be more careful how you phrase things,” Dean suggested, noting Sam’s displeasure. “How about you tell me what you think I should know about you.” Reaching for his coffee cup, he took a sip.

Sam gave the Duke a mild glare then shrugged. “Not much to tell at this point. My home is gone, relatives have cast me aside, my parents dead. My mother long ago, my father, this past summer. I’ve no siblings. My father, he had gone to the Yuletide auction most years after my mother passed. It is ironic that I was on the other side of the bidding this year.”

Dean had heard a lot of tragedies. Sam was one in countless numbers. And yet, when he spoke of what had happened to him, it was clear he was not looking for sympathy or being dragged down by his past. He had found himself in uncharted waters, but he hadn’t lost his head. Instead, he’d found a way out for himself. “Most don’t know about the auction. Maybe it was a bit of luck, although it may seem otherwise.” Arranging his cheese and meat on a toast, Dean took a bite. “I’m sorry for the loss of your parents, particularly your father, since it was recent.”

“Thank you. This… this will be my first holiday season without him. He had his faults but was a good man and a good father. And yes, I suppose I was fortunate to be aware of the auctions and since they knew my father, I had little trouble with getting accepted quickly. They turn away many who try to present themselves as something other than what they are.” Sam couldn’t help the slight ‘mmm’ sound he made as he ate some berries with rich cream.

Dean’s attention was riveted on Sam. Course it still irked him that he’d been cheated out of a kiss. “Keep that up, and I’ll have you in my bed before you’ve had your breakfast. And no, I don’t give a damn that it’s still daylight and we’d scandalize the staff.” He meant every word.

“Keep what up?” Sam asked, his brow slightly furrowed, then realized what he’d done. “Not exactly a model of self control are you? Or am I simply utterly irresistible? And I can’t help it I love berries and sweet cream.”

“Maybe it’s a bit of both.” Dean leaned across the table and licked a bit of cream off the corner of Sam’s mouth. He lingered a little, pressing his lips to Sam’s, then straightened. “I do, too. Love berries and sweet cream,” he said, smirking a little. He’d have to be sure to tell cook to have some ready for him in the evening, after hours.

Sam was startled at Dean’s boldness, though he shouldn’t be at this point he supposed. He licked the rest of the cream from his lips. “You baffle me,” Sam admitted. “It is your turn to tell me something about yourself.”

“And here I thought you knew everything about me,” Dean drawled. It wasn’t as if Sam had hidden his thoughts and feelings on the subject. “Alright. Despite my reputation as a London rake, I prefer my country seat. A few weeks in London every few months is more than enough for me. And I most definitely do not walk around trying to start duels.”

“I know little about you,” Sam said honestly. “Though I’ve heard you are ruthless in business dealings and in gambling. Yes, I have heard that you’ve been in your share of duels. Over women mostly, or so it is said.”

“Most of the duels are men trying to build up their own reputations. Women. Imagined slights of character. Any excuse will do.” Dean shrugged. “I don’t chase after men or women who are attached. It’s not worth the trouble. As for the rest, I expect people to meet their end of business bargains, and to live within their means. Ah, the eggs.” 

Leaning back, Dean waited for the eggs to be served. “Try the bacon,” he suggested. 

“Sometimes people get in over their heads. You should be more compassionate. Not everyone is as fortunate as you to have unlimited wealth at their fingertips,” Sam said. Just for the annoyance factor, Sam avoided taking any of the bacon, even though he enjoyed bacon quite a lot.

“And how do you suppose I amassed my so called unlimited wealth? I guarantee you, it wasn’t by frittering away more than I could afford. Do try the bacon,” he repeated, nodding towards it. “It is from Squire John’s farms. His lands march alongside mine.” 

“Obviously you are a man who’s never found himself in a tight spot due to circumstances beyond his control.” Sam again ignored Dean’s suggestion of the bacon and began eating his eggs with some toast.

Dean gave a bitter laugh, but didn’t answer. “And obviously, you are a man who cuts off his nose to spite his face. That’s twice now.” He pointed with his knife at the untouched bacon on Sam’s plate. Then he wiped his mouth with the napkin and rose. “Wilkins will be along to take you to your appointments and keep you entertained.”

It was clear, his humor had fled. “Good morning,” he said curtly and walked out of the room, his breakfast cooling on his plate.

Sam stared after him, again startled by Dean’s reactions. Once Dean had left the room, he picked up a piece of bacon and bit into it. Damn, the Duke was right. It was very good.

* * * 

Wilkins had Sam stand in the middle of the room as servants brought full length mirrors. The tailor arrived and was laying out his materials and tools of trade.

Wilkins whispered to Humphries, “I thought his Lordship was going to be here to help with the selection of Master Samuel’s clothing.”

“He was,” Humphries agreed. “But something put him into an ill humor, he’s not coming.” As Wilkins tried to speculate on what might have happened, Humphries walked away.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek. He was what had happened. Dean had indicated they were going to spend the day together. These clothes were not coming out of Sam’s money. Dean was providing them. Suddenly, he felt about ten inches tall. 

“Humphries, wait,” Sam called out, running after him. When the butler stopped, Sam spoke softly. “Please tell the Duke I’m sorry. He was right. The bacon was very good and that, if he’s interested, he could come collect on the debt I owe him and stay to help select the clothes he’s paying for.” He shouldn’t feel badly he told himself, even as he practically begged Humphries to get Dean to forgive him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But he did feel guilty. And if he was going to be the Duke’s lover, he’d rather get to know the Duke before being forced into his bed.

“I will give him your message,” the elderly butler said. “But don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t come. He’s not one to change his mind easily.” He patted Sam on the back. “But he also doesn’t hold grudges. Now go on, get yourself some fancy clothes. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find off the shelf trousers that fit you?” 

“I owe him a kiss. I suspect that might draw him here. And I do hold grudges. At least over certain things. And yes, I know. Tailors have often told me I am one of the tallest they have ever made clothes for. Tell me, what is his favorite color? The Duke’s?”

Humphries tried not to smile. “He favors dark colors for himself. He’s not very frivolous when it comes to fashion, but as for colors, I suppose I’d keep to deep gemstone hues. However, I’ve been told I have no sense for fashion. Wilkins will guide you well.” He started to walk away, then turned to add, “He also favors red.”

“Thank you.” Sam returned to Wilkins. “Make certain I have red shirt, as well as some dark, gemstone hues. The pants and coats should be dark. I leave it to the tailor and yourself to decide which colors compliment me the most and that the Duke favors. Humphries speaks highly of you so I will trust your decisions of style and color. But no fancy kravats. Try to keep them fairly simple if elegant. Also, ruffles shouldn’t be so many as to make it look as if poodles are wrapped about me. I would like a set of clothes suitable for somewhat strenuous outdoor work as well.” 

Sam paused. He sounded like the gentry he had once been, snapping off orders. He met the Duke’s assistant’s eyes. He had now been on the other side of the orders and it could be less than pleasant. “Thank you Wilkins,” Sam said. “Forgive my brusqueness. Breakfast did not go as well with the Duke as it should have. I have a talent for being, ah, a pain in the buttocks and I’m still feeling a bit out of my depth.” He glanced at the tailor. “Please sir, do not feel rushed and feel free to discuss with me and Wilkins any options you think might suit me.”

The tailor gave a bow and gestured for Sam to stand next to him.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Sir,” Wilkins said, tugging on his collar. “And if I presented you with ruffles that made you resemble a poodle, I’m quite sure I’d lose my position.”

“As would I,” the tailor laughed, then started taking Sam’s measurements. “You’re a strapping lad. You’ve got the height of a moose, as my dear departed mum would have said, God rest ‘er soul.”

“A moose? Well, that’s a new one,” Sam said, laughing softly. He hid his smile as the small man had to pull out a step stool in some cases to get all the measurements.

“Arms out, please. That’s fine.” The tailor measured, then scribbled on a piece of paper. It took a while, and then he announced he was done. “I was told you will need some clothing by this evening so I made up a few basic garments that can easily be tailored to fit you,” he said.

Going to the large standing trunk and opening it, he rifled through some hung trousers, then pulled out a black one. “This is one of our finest materials,” he said.

Wilkins joined them and touched the fabric, and gave his nod of approval.

“If you would,” the tailor said, as he started to undress Sam. 

Sam gave a nod and quickly stepped free of his boots, unfastened his belt, then undid his pants and pushed them down. The pants still smelled of horses. Stepping out of the pants, he waited for the tailor to indicate what he should do next.

The tailor helped Sam get into the trousers. They were not finished trousers, just a model that could be tailored to fit. “Please stand straight and face the mirror.” When Sam did, the tailor started to use pins to nip and tuck the material as needed.

Wilkins made a few comments, but mostly approved.

“Tailor the waist in a little more,” Dean said, standing against the mantle, and watching them. “More,” he added, as the tailor put in more pins. He raised his gaze slowly, to meet Sam’s in the mirror.

Sam felt his face flush a little and he wasn’t sure why. He also wasn’t about to admit to himself how glad he was to see that the Duke had apparently taken his apology to heart. Or he just wanted that kiss. “Do make certain I can breathe,” Sam said, his gaze not wavering from the Duke’s.

“By all means, don’t steal his breath. But not more than one or two fingers should fit inside the waistband,” Dean insisted.

“Aye your Lordship, yes Sir.” The tailor tried to accommodate both requests.”

“So long as I can sit comfortably,” Sam said with a nod.

The tailor glanced at the Duke, then bent down and put in some more pins. 

“Pair it with a morning coat,” Dean said, accepting a glass of port from Humphries, who then took his tray to the coffee table and placed an additional glass on the table, for Sam. 

Nodding, the tailor went to the trunk and pulled out several, showing each one off. Dean pointed at the one with the deepest cutaway. It had a two buttons closure at the waist, then it sloped away towards the back. “And a less formal one, for riding. In brown or tan, with velvet cuffs and trim,” he said, pushing away from the mantle. “Unless Sam has any objections,” he gestured, fully expecting the man to have his own ideas that contradicted Dean’s.

“No, I think the four-button, yes, that one,” Sam said, pointing to a previous one he’d tried on. “Too many common shirts will not combine well with that much cutaway on the Duke’s fine but less practical choice of a coat for me. The four-button coat gives the Duke the desired low cut, yet it is high enough that shirts won’t look strange with it if they don’t have ruffles from stem to stern. No velvet on the riding coat. Velvet looks nice but lacks the durability I prefer. Trim in dark brown deer-hide, please. And please be kind enough to loosen the waist in my pants a bit, to two and a half fingers. I prefer an adjustable waist where I can tighten the belt, rather than one where I can not sit through a meal comfortably. Besides,” Sam met Dean’s gaze boldly, “I’m sure the Duke will much prefer the belt around me in the end.” 

“The Duke is well aware of how much you care about his preferences,” Dean ground out. 

The staff looked away and made themselves busy as their master didn’t mince his words.

Slowly, Dean walked over and sat down on the sofa, taking the booklet of patterns of the newest designs from Paris. He flipped through the pages, then set the book down on the coffee table. “This one here,” he said, turning the book around for the tailor and Sam to see. It was a formal tail coat of the highest fashion. “Trimmed in satin or velvet, as there is no utilitarian purpose for this garment. Wilkins, he’ll need highly polished black boots to go with this.”

Wilkins immediately wrote in his notebook.

“And a less formal tail coat, in burgandy should suit,” Dean said, his gaze roving over Sam. “Make sure it is something that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders and narrow waist. I want a drawing before you begin.”

Sam arched a brow. It was far fancier than anything he’d ever owned for he did not abide with wasting money on clothes that had no purpose other than to show off one’s wealth. He studied the outfit. “Are you certain?” He saw the look in Dean’s eyes and gave a shrug. “As you wish. For the burgundy, if the Duke is set on accenting my waist, two buttons would be fine if you can produce two shirts that would go well with such an open cut.” He pursed his lips a moment. “I asked for a red shirt. It might well be striking with such a design if matched with a black coat rather than burgundy. Though I like burgundy quite well. What do you think, your Lordship?” Sam decided not to bait Dean this time. He’d made his wishes known, but the Duke had the final say. He had been trying to make as few multifunctional clothes as possible. If the Duke wanted him in new clothes everyday, who was he to argue--up to a point and so long as the outfits weren’t silliness incarnate. 

“Red?” Dean licked his lips, “ah… Agreed, it would suit you. Let’s find something less formal for it,” he said, rifling through the pages to hide how very much he liked the idea.

Humphries hid a smile, but brought Sam’s untouched port to him. “Sir.”

Sam gave Humphries a look of gratitude that was clearly for more than just the port.

Dean quickly selected a few additional items of clothing. “And Wilkins, see to it that night shirts and underclothing are ordered. I don’t intend to help with the selection, but I will have your head if I see anything that better suits my grandfather.”

“Aye Your Lordship.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the valet. “It was a joke.” 

“Are you done making adjustments to the pants?” Sam asked. He didn’t want to get poked with pins. The tailor busied himself with a few minor adjustments, then helped Sam carefully shed the pants.

“Let me fit a shirt or two to you so I can be certain of the fit for the rest of your clothes.”

Sam put on his pants then shed his shirt, goosebumps rising on his skin. “A bit colder in here than I realized,” Sam murmured, while the tailor held up a couple nearly finished shirts for the Duke’s approval. He saw that Dean was not looking at the shirts though. “Your Lordship, please, either choose the shirts you favor for me or come collect your debt and then choose. The fires could use a bit of stoking. Inside or out,” Sam said, intentionally trying to put thoughts in Dean’s head. He had promised to be a tease, after all.

“Humphries…” Dean was aware the butler left the room to bring servants to stoke the fires, but only slightly so. His attention was on Sam, the double entendres making him grow warm with thoughts of what he wanted to do. His nostrils flared slightly as he got up and strode over to Sam.

“I… I need a few things, I’ll…” The tailor retreated from the room, with Wilkins hard on his heels. Neither wanted to witness either the debauchery or the shouting that was bound to follow.

“I’ll collect my debt, and perhaps we’ll both get what we want,” Dean said in a silky, low voice, his body only inches from Sam’s

“The prize was a kiss from me. Not you kissing me. So tell me Du...Dean, can you suffer the loss of control so as to collect the debt?” Sam challenged. “If you can, stand still and close your eyes.”

“I believe I can stand here and collect, and warm you at once,” Dean countered, dropping the arm he’d been about to hook around Sam’s waist. “You did ask me to stoke your fires.”

“First, my payment. Then if my fires aren’t stoked, you can do that. Now close your eyes,” Sam said. He gave Dean a stern look. “Close. Your. Eyes. Now. And keep them closed or you forfeit the kiss.” He could see he was annoying Dean and couldn’t help but smirk. 

Once Dean finally closed his eyes, Sam ghosted his lips over Dean’s, then along his cheekbone. He feathered kisses along one eyebrow and then the other. He moved to Dean’s strong jawline, breathing in the man’s scent. He liked it. He couldn’t deny that. 

Whenever Dean tried to turn his head to capture Sam’s lips, Sam pulled back. “My kiss, dammit,” Sam growled at him.

Dean had been expecting a perfunctory kiss. Sam just paying his debt, as he put it, and getting it over as quickly as he could. And the first feather light touch of his lips against Dean’s seemed to confirm it, that Sam meant to give him a chaste kiss.

But when Sam didn’t draw away immediately, and instead feathered kisses across his face, Dean was stunned. His mouth burned, his desire for a real kiss eclipsing the questions in his mind. He tried to take what he wanted, frowning when Sam refused him.

Sam finished working down to Dean’s chin, nipping the flesh sometimes along the way, and smoothing any sting away with another light kiss. He pulled back and studied the Duke’s face. “No, I’m not done yet. Just keep your eyes closed.” Freckles. The man had light freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose. For some reason, that made Sam smile. Taking in a long slow breath, Sam pulled Dean into his arms and kissed him, his tongue trying to slip between Dean’s lips.

Dean was reaching the end of his tether, only because he was certain Sam was having fun at his expense. That he was teasing him, that he would draw away without giving Dean a proper kiss. But for his suspicions, Dean would have enjoyed every second of this. It was exactly what he’d needed, and contemplated. A month of pretending he had a real lover at his side, someone to share the season with. Someone who knew how to wind him up slowly, and then gave him what he wanted.

And then Sam’s arms enveloped him, and Dean could state under oath there was nothing cold about Sam. The instant Sam’s tongue was at the entrance of his mouth, Dean parted his lips, fighting the instinct to suck Sam’s tongue inside, vowing to let him go at his own pace. But he couldn’t leave everything up to Sam, and found himself leaning in, forcing their bodies together.

Sam explored Dean’s mouth, tasting the lingering port wine. He felt Dean press closer to him and felt the growing knots in both their groins. His chest was bare and the very cold metal buttons on Dean’s shirt brought a small sound of complaint from him. He ran one hand up Dean’s back and the other down toward his ass, refusing to give Dean any quarter. He refused to rub his hardness against Dean’s. That hadn’t been the deal, and the tailor still had work to do. He was practically seeing spots from lack of oxygen when he finally let Dean up to breathe.

“Your buttons are freaking cold,” Sam complained as he slowly released the Duke.

He’d never been kissed quite so thoroughly, or felt light-headed just because of a kiss. Drawing in a deep breath, Dean reached out and gripped Sam’s hips, preventing him from moving away. “Only because you’re avoiding my ‘freaking hot’ buttons,” Dean answered, swooping down to claim another kiss.

He could have kissed Sam fiercely, but he held back. Instead, he kissed him as carefully and thoroughly as Sam had, running his tongue over Sam’s palate, and exploring every corner of his mouth. The blood pounded at his temples. Dean gave a soft groan, and tangled their tongues together in a heated dance. He used years of experience to coax a response, a real one, from Sam.

Sam heard Dean’s groan as they kissed and something ignited inside of him. He began to respond, fresh heat coiling inside of him. Memories of his estate, his people blossomed into his mind, and the reminder that this man who was kissing him had cost him everything slammed into him. 

Abruptly, he broke away from Dean, slightly panting. “As much as I know you enjoy me shirtless, let’s permit the tailor to finish his business, else I’ll catch pneumonia from walking around without shirts and coats to warm me. Though for the moment, you adequately stoked my fires.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Dean’s gaze because he was certain he would find censor there.

Dean blinked, processing Sam’s words and actions. His gaze moved to Sam’s chest, rising and falling with heavy breaths. And when he lifted his gaze, he was aware Sam was avoiding looking at him. One moment, they’d been in sync, and the next… “At least my efforts were… adequate,” Dean mocked. “Please, don’t catch your death of cold just yet.”

Running his hand through his hair, Dean turned and started to head for the door. “Humphries, make sure the fires are are built higher for Samuel, and give him a wool blanket or a covering at all times. I believe Grandfather’s closet holds a few that will do.” His curt tones rang all the way out to the hall where he valet was waiting, even before Dean reached the doorway.

“Dammit Dean!” Sam snapped. “This is my first day with you. You promised me appointments with you, that we’d spend the day together. I would like to get to know you a bit. I am not a whore nor a subservient submissive lad. You didn’t want that, and you knew at the auction that I have a brain, a fire of my own, and will not bow to your every whim. If that is what you want, then tell me now. I will hide my fire, hold my tongue, and be what you seem to want but claim you don’t. I gave you the kiss, the kiss you wanted, the way you wanted it. The way I wanted it. Is it wrong for me to say stop, I’m not ready for that next step quite yet. Let me contemplate this for a few hours. And I certainly meant no affront when I said adequate. I was teasing! Look at the bulge in my pants and you’ll know you lit me on fire. And I need to step back to find my feet again,” he practically pleaded, unsure of what was whirling around in his head. “So tell me now,” he demanded. “Who do you want me to be?” 

Dean wheeled around and looked at Sam long and hard, searching his face, gauging his earnestness and weighing his words. His nostrils flared slightly as he met the fire in Sam’s eyes with his own, their gazes locking in a battle of wills. Eventually, his anger cooled. “Perhaps I am perceiving insults where none are intended,” he said, unbending a little. “You shall have all the time you need, and I most certainly do not want to play master/servant, that is not my style. I detest false flattery and sycophants. Carry on. I will see you later in the day.”

“Believe me, when I insult you, it will be very clear. I do hope you do not take my words to the tailor as false flattery. I am trying to be mindful of what pleases you, but that will please me as well. May I track you down once the tailor is through with me, or would you prefer I stay away for a few hours?” Sam’s words were simple and non biting. He’d spoken his mind as had the Duke. They would have to find a compromise...well, he knew he had no choice in the matter, but he could at least try to force his brain to accept what was, and within a few days, hopefully he would be able to. The Duke would quickly find it unacceptable if he pulled away and said no every time the intensity began to grow between them. 

Dean gave a nod. “Humphries will direct you to my location,” he said, turning and walking briskly out of the room. His expression was no longer angry or grim, and he gave Humphries a questioning look as he passed him. The man appeared to be downright gleeful for no reason.

* * * 

Sam took Jericho and got directions from the stable hands since Humphries had told him Dean would be on the north end of the estate overseeing the new cottages. He rode Jericho, sometimes cantering, sometimes walking. It was a nice day out with the sun shining brightly and it had certainly warmed up a bit, at least under the rays of the sun. However, the wind had a distinct nip to it and in the shade it was downright cold.

“Your Lordship!” Sam called out, not seeing Zeus anywhere. Perhaps he’d missed Dean at the cottages and Dean was already headed into town.

Hearing Sam’s voice, Dean walked out of a cottage, finishing his conversation with the builder. “Running water is a capital idea. Just see that it works,” Dean warned. He wouldn’t abide by shoddy work.

Leaving the man behind, he walked to the center of the roadway and caught Jericho’s reins. “You’re done far earlier than I expected,” he said, looking up into Sam’s face. He definitely liked the way Sam’s hair was mussed, but vowed not to say a thing, or the man was liable to take a comb to it.

“I decided not to wait for the tailor to finish adjusting and stitching. He said it would be a few hours. I wanted to be here, with you. Seeing what you do.” He looked at the cottages. “Exactly what are you doing? Why are you having new cottages built? And did I hear you say running water?” Sam dismounted. Walking up to Dean, he brushed his lips lightly over the Duke’s, then took Jericho’s reins.

Clearly, they were starting over. Again. Dean resolved to try harder this time. Acknowledging the intimate gesture with a smile, he started to walk, showing Sam around. “The old cottages are in a state of disrepair. It’s come to a point where keeping them up costs more than they are worth. The plan is to move those living in the old cottages here, once the the buildings are completed. Of course some of the farmers prefer to stay on the farms. They’ll only be moved temporarily. After I see the results here, I will decide whether to demolish the old cottages or, more likely, gut them and perform top to bottom repairs.”

A few children chased a ball, and suddenly came to a standstill seeing them. “I assure you, Sam does not eat children for lunch. Only breakfast,” he added, his expression unchanging as the children screamed and ran away. 

Sam thumped him in the arm. “I’m not that tall to be classified a giant.” He looked around. “On my--where I grew up, the farmers tended to their own cottages. They could, of course get building or repair materials through the estate at the same rate the estate paid for them. Are the cottages theirs? Or do they pay rent?”

“The farmers have renewable leaseholds and own any improvements they make, so the original buildings belong to the estate and are my responsibility. The estate supplies cottages to the laborers as part of payment for their labor. There are farm workers as well as gravel quarry workers,” he said. “Then there are those who simply rent and work in surrounding villages and towns.” 

He pointed to some distant buildings. “There are some Roman ruins over there. I’ll show them to you some time, if you’re interested.” 

Sam’s gaze followed the direction Dean pointed. “Really? Yes, I’d like that a lot,” he said, excited by the idea. “I’ve read about ruins, but have never actually been to any. Have you done any digging there? Found any coins or weapons or anything interesting?”

“No, it never crossed my mind,” Dean laughed. “But if you feel lucky, ask Wilkins to assign a laborer to you and have at it. So long as any holes you dig up are covered afterwards.”

Sam looked at him aghast. “You never went looking for buried treasure? By yourself or with some friends? No, no. This won’t do. You and I, the first day you have a good half day to spend with me, we’re going to look for buried treasure. We’ll take a picnic with us and explore the ruins proper-like, no laborers or chaperones or stuffy servants telling us to keep our clothes clean and not to climb on the crumbling walls because we might hurt ourselves. So come on, when can we go on a treasure hunt?”

“You’re inviting me, to dig, with you? Well that’s a new one,” the Duke muttered under his breath. “And what if after all the labor, you find nothing?” he asked. The thought of a picnic was enticing, and he could always sit back and watch Sam do his digging. A smile played on his lips at the thought. 

Sam rested a hand on the Duke’s shoulder. “Don’t you get it? It’s not the finding. It’s the hunting,” he said, squeezing Dean’s shoulder before releasing it. “Weren’t you ever a… a kid? Escaped out the window, climbing down the tree, to go off on ‘dangerous’ adventures in the middle of the night? Explored dark and spooky places? Ever wondered what was actually down a rabbit hole beneath a dead tree? Caught insects and centipedes and frogs?”

“Childhood seems a long time ago,” Dean answered, a shadow crossing his features. “But if you want to do these things, we’ll do them. Tomorrow afternoon, if the weather permits,” he promised, “I suppose you’ll want a monocle, or spectacles to look like a real archaeologist. If we rush back, we could make sure the tailor makes up something fitting for you to wear.” He expressly left himself out of the equation. 

“I’m not dressing up like an archaeologist. Maybe a pirate,” Sam said with a laugh. He gave a nod. “Yeah, childhood does seem like a long long time ago. But my father and I, twice a year, would go on some adventure. It was usually some small silly thing, but he told me the most important thing about life was to never stop living it. Whatever you had in front of you, you just had to roll up your sleeves and dive right in, whether it was a New Year’s Eve party that you knew you’d have too much fun at and couldn’t wait to attend, or the stableboy was too sick to muck the stalls and it was up to you to do it. Then that’s what you did.” He shrugged. “Sometimes you need to stop being such an adult about everything to really appreciate what’s in front of you.”

“Your father must have been a remarkable man.” Dean gave a shrug. “Alright, we’ll do this thing. Tomorrow.” He chuckled, and then lifting his hand to his mouth, gave a low whistle. They heard Zeus’ whinney as the horse made its way to him. 

“He was,” Sam said, a soft smile on his face as he remembered happier times.


	3. Chapter 3

After touring the cottages, they had wine and cheese at the local tavern. It was nothing fancy, but quite good. A couple had just tied the knot, so there was a celebratory atmosphere and it was contagious.

Then someone who fancied himself a comedian stood up and started telling some ribald jokes. Dean tried not to laugh, but when his eyes met Sam’s, he couldn’t help it.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard better jokes from ten year olds,” Sam said quietly as he shook his head. Which only seemed to make Dean laugh harder? “Note to self. The Duke has questionable taste in jokes. Even if he has good taste at auctions.”

“He does, does he? And there’s no self interest in that compliment,” Dean said, poking a finger into Sam’s chest. “And what about his ‘midget romancing a lady’ jokes, you must admit they’re funny.”

“They’re older than my father. I heard the drunk and duchess one when I was getting my very first ale to drink. The unicorn one, okay, that was funny,” Sam said and waved for some more wine.

Dean shook his head. “You’re a hard man to please, Sam…” He waited for Sam to fill in his family name, though by the terms of the contract, he was under no obligation to reveal his full identity. 

“Not at all. Get me drunk and I’m sure I’ll think all of his jokes are the best I’ve ever heard. The wine here is quite good.” The barmaid set down more wine for the both of them and Sam raised his goblet. “To a successful treasure hunt on the morrow. And in tomorrow’s race, I get to set the prize.”

“Treasure hunt, what treasure hunt?” Someone called out, despite the Duke’s presence. Everyone had been drinking liberally, and in the tavern, the Duke often did not stand on ceremony.

“What I’d like to know more about is the prize,” Dean drawled, giving Sam a distinctly suggestive look.

Sam’s eyes sparkled. “Oh no. Not until the race is ready to be run. I will come up with something adequately… entertaining. I promise you.” He clinked his goblet against Dean’s and took a drink, smacking his lips. “Yes, very, very good wine.”

Noticing that Sam had ignored the drunkard’s question, Dean raised the goblet to his own mouth and drank it down. “If you’re not careful, you’ll have the town joining us on our private picnic and archeological expedition.”

“What?” Sam glanced around. Seeing some speculative looks he shook his head and laughed. “The treasure hunt is for a promising yuletide tree to decorate! I promised the Duke we would search until we found just the right one for his manor.” Seeing that seemed to satisfy the curious he looked back at Dean. “Speaking of,” he said leaning in closer to Dean, “we really should get you a proper tree.”

“Humphries will arrange it, just tell him your preferences,” Dean said, giving an admiring nod at the way that Sam had deflected further questioning with the plausible answer. “He’s got a good eye for these things and will cut down just the tree.”

Sam looked toward the ceiling and shook his head then focused his gaze back on the Duke. With the goblet in his hand he pointed one finger at Dean. “You really have forgotten everything about the magic of the season and going on adventures and decorating and stealing holiday cookies. You, sir, are going to become properly educated in ways to have _fun_ for the holidays. And I don’t mean the other type of fun. You’ll get plenty of that as well.” 

Dean frowned. “Do tell me how it is different, or better, to select your own tree and greenery, than to have it done for you?” The earnest look in Sam’s eyes defeated him. “Fine. But you and Humphries make all the arrangements. And make sure there is plenty of drink,” he said, upending his goblet. 

Sam shook a finger at him. “Oh no. You and I are going to have yuletide adventures. We’ll work with Humphries but we’ll go out together and find the things we want, and then can ask him to make the arrangements. I have no idea how much of what will need to be ordered. But we’ll search the shops, together, and search the woods, and we’ll have a wreath making contest for the kids, and the winning wreath, that family will get a holiday goose or something and we’ll hang the wreath above the fireplace. You will have more fun than work this holiday season, even if it kills you.”

“More wine,” Dean called out in mock desperation, motioning the tavern keep, even though their pitcher was quite full.

* * * 

When they returned from the tavern, Dean told Humphries to lead Sam to the bedchamber that adjoined Dean’s. Although Sam claimed he was not inebriated, Dean begged to differ, having listened to him sing at the top of his lungs the entire ride back to the manor.

A few hours later, Dean bathed and changed into a dinner jacket. When he headed downstairs to the formal dining room, Humphries stopped him.

“Begging your pardon, your Lordship, dinner is being served in the small salon this evening.” 

Dean raised a brow.

“A more intimate setting.”

Giving a nod of agreement, Dean headed for the salon.

Sam paced the smaller room a bit nervously. He’d sobered up since the tavern’s wine, though the end of the conversation he’d had with the Duke at the tavern and the ride back were still a bit blurry to him. He seemed to recall attempting to serenade Dean on the way back and had no idea why.

When Humphries had come to check on him--or rather, rouse him from his drunken slumber, Sam had taken a lukewarm bath to help sober himself up a bit. He’d drank a goodly amount of water, and had some bacon, which all seemed to help. What had helped most of all though was the local apothecary’s hangover remedy. Sam had no idea what was in it, it tasted like horsepiss, but he definitely felt sober about an hour after taking it.

Sam convinced Humphries to move the dinner to the room he was currently in. He didn’t want Dean down at the other end of some long table with servants at both their sides, and having to nearly shout to have a decent conversation. If Dean wanted to reach out and take his hand, Sam wanted to be within reach for him to do so. He wasn’t quite ready for an intimate encounter with the Duke, but spending a good portion of the day with him had certainly helped him bury some of his anger. 

Taking away his estate hadn’t been personal. It had just been business. It was still a horse’s ass of a move, to not even give him a bit of time, but patience wasn’t really among the Duke’s attributes. This too, this was just business. Sam agreed to be the consort of the man who’d ruined his life, so he had enough money to start anew. To make that sort of money so quickly, he simply had to do something he found less than savory for a month.

Yes, given another day or so, and he thought he could do it. He did find himself sort of liking the man. Sometimes at least.

When he heard Dean approaching, Sam hurried to the table and stood by his own chair, waiting for the Duke.

The moment he walked in, Dean’s gaze sought out Sam. With the fire burning bright in the fireplace, golden lights played over Sam’s skin, and made his eyes glitter. “Evening.” He walked up to Sam, put a hand on his shoulder, and kissed the corner of his mouth, before moving to his own seat. “You look very striking.”

Sam had expected one of the more familiar kisses the Duke had given to him this morning and was surprised to find he was disappointed by the cursory ‘peck on the cheek’ sort of kiss he’d received.

Glancing down at the new set of clothes he was wearing, a slight flush colored his cheeks. “Thank you. You… you look very good as well.” He settled into his chair. “So what did you do the rest of the afternoon while I was sleeping off the tavern’s rather potent wine?”

“I recovered from your singing. No, actually I didn’t. I’ve been humming that blasted tune all this time,” Dean said, chuckling at Sam’s rueful look. 

“Serenades are supposed to stick in the head of the one you serenaded. So I believe I must have chosen well for the song. Exactly why did I decide to serenade you?” Sam asked, looking a bit sheepish.

“I believe you said something about my well-formed lips,” Dean said, in a questioning tone. “And you like my hands, though I’m not sure where that came from.”

Shrugging, Sam gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, well, you do have nice hands. Strong. Warm. As for your lips, did you know you get these little dimples when you smile sometimes? Tell me I didn’t try to count your freckles…”

“I haven’t had freckles since I was in short pants,” Dean protested. He couldn’t say he was unmoved by Sam’s compliment, though, this time spoken when he was not under the influence. “And you may have imagined the dimples as well. But if I do have them, they don’t hold a candle to yours.” He knew Sam could not argue that point. 

Sam dipped his head. Yes, he had very pronounced dimples that he used to his advantage upon occasion. “You do too have freckles. They go right across the bridge of your nose. They’re… cute,” he said, giving a mischievous smile, showing off those self-same dimples.

Dean gave a grump, but the light in his eyes indicated he wasn’t displeased in the least. “Maybe your next serenade will involve freckles then,” he said. 

Humphries moved into the room and motioned for the servants to start serving wine and food.

“Ah, no wine for me, I think. Perhaps some tea?” Sam said, ignoring Dean’s smirk. He’d definitely over-indulged at the tavern. His stomach growled though with the delectable aromas coming from the serving plates. “Oh, that smells fabulous,” he added, his mouth already beginning to water. Since his time as a peasant, he most definitely appreciated good food much more readily. He took a piece of warm bread, slathered it with fresh salted butter and bit into it, a soft groan of pleasure sounding in his throat. “Mmm, I’m starved.” 

“Me too,” Dean said softly, watching Sam eat and touching nothing on his own plate. He licked his lips, and drew his gaze away for only a split second, before it was drawn back to Sam’s lips.

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean staring at him, at his lips or his throat and hastily set down the bread. “Tomorrow night… Yeah, probably tomorrow night we can work on maybe… you know, fixing that. But for tonight, let’s stick to food.” He nearly laughed when one of the servants almost dropped a plate. Everyone knew why he was here. Surely Dean had had others. 

Gently rebuking the servant, Humphries took the tray from him and brought a cup of tea to Sam, as well as a glass of lemonade. Giving a slight bow, he motioned for the others to leave the room with him.

“Alone at last. Eat.” Dean motioned towards the food and picked up his utensils. “You did say you’re hungry.” Cutting his meat, Dean took a bite and found that he was quite famished himself. “After dinner, if you like, we can take stock of the manor’s Christmas decorations. That is, if you still plan on having a hand in decorating the manor.”

“Really? Yeah, I think that would be a great way to spend the evening!” Sam said, admittedly a little relieved there wouldn’t be post dinner awkwardness. “Did you tell the kitchen we’ll need a picnic for tomorrow? And maybe some shovels?”

“Yes, everything is in order. Now, are you sure you don’t want me to engage a few diggers?” Dean asked, trying to keep his face straight. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with pointing and watching.”

“No! What fun is it to have others find it?” Sam said. “And don’t think you’re not going to get in there and help. You’re going to experience the joy of treasure hunting, even if we don’t find a damned thing.” 

“Alright, alright. But you’ll be the one to face the wrath of my valet when we come back with scratched boots, and… and stained clothing,” Dean said, pointing at Sam with his fork, before using it to stab at his food. “You’re really quite obsessed with treasure hunts, aren’t you?” Dean mentally made a note to make sure that a few pieces of obviously fake treasure would be hidden at the ruins, for them to find. 

“A scratch or two on your boots adds character to them,” Sam scoffed, cutting his meat into bite-sized pieces. “And I’m not obsessed. But, Dean, think of it! We could go out there and do a bit of digging and find some coins that no one’s touched since the Romans that lost them there! Or an old mug. Maybe even a sword or shield. Wouldn’t it be spectacular to find something like that, clean it up, and put it up on your wall for visitors to see. Bonus is you can make up any story you want. Say it was the sword of some famous Roman Centurion who still haunts the ruins, or it was passed down through the generations.” Sam thought about all the imaginary treasures they could come across, his eyes distant and filled with light. He gave Dean a grin. “I know we probably won’t find anything interesting, probably won’t find anything at all, but doesn’t the idea of holding something hundreds of years old, something that no one else has touched or even seen in all that time, don’t you find that kind of exciting?”

“Yes, it makes me tingle all over.” Smirking, Dean met Sam’s eyes.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Dean chuckled. “I am working my way up to excitement. The only reason you can’t tell is because you don’t know me.” Reaching for his wine, he lifted it up in a small toast and took a sip. 

Sam lifted his cup of lemonade in response. “And I suspect you’re humoring me rather than working up to any real excitement about treasure hunting.” He took a sip of the lemonade, then swirled a bit of meat through some gravy and brought it to his mouth. After chewing and swallowing, he gave an approving nod. “You really do have good cooks.”

“I’ll be sure that Humphries passes you compliments on to them,” Dean answered. “Wait until you see what’s for dessert.” His eyes twinkled. “I hope you like pies.”

“I like cobblers best, usually,” Sam admitted, “but some things just don’t work as cobblers so pies are good. Or cakes. Or pudding.” He laughed. “I’m not picky about desserts, and I don’t often have them. Never really had a big sweet tooth. Except when my father would make his special cake for us. Between the two of us, we’d eat the whole thing, not that it was a really big cake, but still. So what sort of pie are we having?” he asked as he speared some vegetables onto his fork. 

“No sweet tooth? You don’t say.” Dean looked shocked. “Ah well, it means more for me. There will probably be an array of pies, and I’m sure there’ll be a cobbler or two. Peach, cherries,” Dean gave an involuntary ‘mmm,’ and licked his lips in anticipation. 

Sam’s gaze went to Dean’s lips. He realized that Dean really did have well-formed, enticing lips. The thought of them coated with cherry sauce or glaze was more attractive than he cared to admit. “I look forward to seeing you stuff yourself full of pie then.”

“I believe you’re about to serenade me again,” Dean said, a knowing look entering his eyes.

Any answer Sam might have had was lost to him, since the servants chose that moment to return with the next course.

* * *

Instead of having dessert at the dinner table, Sam had suggested they have it later, while looking through Christmas decorations. 

Dean openly told Humphries, “I do believe he wants me alone someplace, tell me, where do we keep the Christmas fripperies.” Sam’s blush was a sight to behold, and it was something Dean would not soon forget. 

An hour later, they were in one of the rooms on the top floor of the manor, where the roofs were slanted, and seasonal items were stored. “You are rather unconventional,” Dean noted, mostly watching as Sam selected decorations.

“How am I unconventional?” Sam asked as he carefully went through the box he had opened, selecting out pieces and putting them in a box marked to go downstairs, and carefully re-packing the items he didn’t like into a fresh trunk, writing colorful descriptors for each item on a sheet of paper. He was going to put the list on top of the items once the box was filled. 

“Your ideas,” Dean waved a hand. “Your love of treasure hunts, be they for Roman artifacts, or Christmas decorations. Dessert, up here? And don’t think I didn’t hear about your offering to help out around the kitchen!” 

Sam chuckled. “Mother used to make up scavenger hunts for Father, before I came along. I guess it became something of a family tradition. There’s nothing quite like finding exactly everything you need, or finding old things and turning them into something new and useful. Or maybe just something silly and fun. Yeah, my family had money, but not wealth like you have. My father always approved of me doing things to help out the staff. Said a hard day’s work was good for the soul sometimes, and makes you remember you’re not really any better than anyone else. Just luckier.” 

Sam pulled out some more decorations and stared at them, holding them up this way and that and finally gave up trying to figure out what they were and put them in the storage box. “Honestly, it was probably more to keep me out of trouble since I tended to awaken long before the rest of the house. If I was busy, I couldn’t be noisy and wake everyone. My father definitely regretted getting me a drum for Christmas one year.”

Picturing all that, Dean chuckled. “I wonder, did you sing along with your drumming,” he asked silkily, reminding Sam of his serenading. 

As he continued to watch Sam pick things up and sort them, he found himself voicing things he’d never told anyone. “They say my mother loved Christmas. That we’d have three or four Christmas trees, and a yuletide log, and activities. I don’t remember,” Dean said. “But my father hated the season. Probably because mother loved it. If he was away, then Humphries had a tree set up.” He blinked away the cold memories, and found himself smiling as he tried to picture his mother up here, excitedly picking through decorations, just as Sam was doing.

“I don’t have too many memories of my mother, but I remember some of the more outrageous ones,” Sam said, pausing and wrapping some decorations around his shoulders and his head. “She loved getting all dressed up in clothes that she claimed were the rage in Paris, when really, she’d just put together as visually bizarre outfits as she could.” He struck a pose as if the decorations were absolutely the huzzah of the festival, then he pulled them off, grinning more to himself than to Dean. 

Dean leaned back, and giving a mock impressed look, nodded as if he was approving of Sam wearing the decorations.

“What was really funny is when we’d see some of the richer nobles copy some of her outfits. We’d laugh until our sides hurt. And I remember that she was a really good cook and had the prettiest voice, perfectly made for lullabies and whispering secrets. I don’t ever remember seeing her really truly angry. I’m sure she was sometimes, but I don’t remember any of that. How old were you when you lost your mother?” he asked. He’d gotten the impression Dean had lost his mother even younger than Sam had. 

“I have a feeling you take completely after her. Your mother,” Dean said, nodding at Sam. But his question had Dean sucking in a sharp breath. “I was about three.” He pressed his lips tightly together for a moment. “She… she stepped between me and an oncoming carriage. I’d let go of my nanny’s hand. I remember blood. I don’t remember her, but all the…” 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up… things like that. My mother was pregnant with my little brother or sister when I was almost six.” He gave a shrug. “Something went wrong and we lost them both. My father made a real effort to pay attention to me, to help me not miss her so much. I just like to think she’s up in Heaven and when I make other people laugh, or help out someone, that she laughs with them, or is proud of me for the things I’ve done or tried to do at least.” Sam pulled out a beautifully embroidered tree skirt. “Oh this definitely has to come out. Looks like it needs a few touch ups with needle and thread, but we get those little places fixed and it’ll be just perfect, don’t you think?”

It was clear their lives had been lived in opposite ways. Sam’s had a lot more laughter in his. Perhaps it would rub off on him, this season, Dean thought. Although, at the same time, he might have been chastising himself for his frivolity.

“Don’t look at me,” Dean said, lifting his hand up. “I don’t do needle and thread, just in case this is one of those things you feel ‘we must experience ourselves.’ I’d advise you to give it to Humphries.” Seeing Sam’s expression, he chuckled, “I do realize you didn’t intend to take needle to thread yourself. And it’s a good choice, it goes well with the decorations you’ve selected. Ah, here comes our pie.” The relief in Dean’s voice was hard to disguise.

A servant pushed a wheeled cart into the room. There were small plates of various cobblers and pies, as well as a pot of tea. He poured two cups, and then gave a bow, and left the room.

“I’d just hate for anymore threads to come loose. It looks like it’s been in the family for a while.” Sam settled on a trunk and accepted the tea Dean handed him. “You know, I sort of figured you as an all work and no play sort of man. I’m surprised you know how to relax and do things like go through Holiday decorations, or go on a treasure hunt.” Sam looked over the selection of desserts and debated about which one looked the best to him at the moment.

“Yes, I’m quite surprised as well. I mean I do relax and engage in enjoyable things, but this is a first,” he nodded at their surroundings. Stirring the sugar into his tea, Dean took a sip. However, his attention was on the mouthwatering desserts. 

Sam watched Dean and realized he was looking at the desserts like he oftentimes looked at Sam. He wasn’t certain if he should feel offended or flattered by that fact. He finally selected a berry cobbler. “We should put up a couple trees,” Sam said decisively. “There are plenty of decorations.” He cut into the cobbler and took a bite. Yes it was very good, but he kept himself from giving the ‘mmmm’ sound he wanted to give. He didn’t want to put any fresh ideas into the Duke’s head at the moment.

As soon as Sam selected a plate, Dean picked another one for himself. As he dug his fork in, he glanced at Sam, seeing his throat convulse as he swallowed. Giving a mild cough, he asked, “Is it getting hot in here?” Tugging on his cravat, he finally took a bite. The cherries were sweet and sour, and he just knew they’d taste even better on Sam’s lips. Taking another forkful, he moved closer, bringing it to Sam’s mouth. 

Sam was surprised by the Duke’s actions but opened his mouth so the Duke could give him the bite of pie. Chewing it, he nodded. “Very good,” he said as soon as he’d swallowed. He offered a bit of his own cobbler up for Dean to try.

“You’re very trusting,” Dean smirked, practically forcing himself to only take a small bite of the cobbler, and using even more self-control by preventing himself from taking Sam into his arms. He did reach out though, and used his thumb to wipe away a bit of the cherry sauce staining Sam’s lips. “Very trusting.”

“You’ve given me no reason to think I shouldn’t be trusting of you,” Sam said. “Even if the desserts do seem to be my rivals for your attention. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a slender and fit man as enamored with desserts as you seem to be. Should I be threatened by the presence of all these desserts?” Sam lightly teased.

Dean had just been licking his fork, when he looked at Sam. “I’d be happy to exchange dessert for you, if you’re offering, or… you know, you’re jealous.” Licking the fork again for good measure, he dug it back into his pie. 

“Somehow I think parting you from your dessert might be very difficult. For if you traded them for me right now, I know where you’d be come midnight, looking for the desserts that you passed on now. No,” Sam said, shaking his head and smirking. “You eat your desserts. After I finish sampling another one or two, there are many more treasure boxes to go through yet this evening.”

“Damn.” Dean made a face and reached for his tea. “Well if you’re jealous of dessert, I suppose I’m jealous of these… what you deem treasure boxes.” Washing down the last of his pie, he reached for another small plate. “That one there. Open it up next,” he said, pointing at a strangely shaped trunk. “And let’s hope there aren’t any skeletons in it, hmm?”

“After I finish a few more of these little desserts. Seems there’s hardly more than three bites on a plate. Just enough to be a tease,” Sam said, and chose a bit of apple pie. “So which is your favorite?”

Dean shot Sam a look. The guy didn’t see the analogy? The dessert wasn’t the only tease in the room. “Cherry. Followed by the apple. And mmm, the crumble pie.” He licked his lips. “I’m quite taken with… all of them,” he said, eyeing Sam in exactly the same way he was looking at the desserts.

Sam gave him a knowing look. “Uh-huh. Well, I don’t wish to ruin the buildup and suspense by giving too many samples away too soon.” He poured them each some more tea then finished off the piece of pie and stacked the dirty plate on top of the plate that had held the cobbler. He studied the desserts and chose another cobbler. “We are going to that Christmas party, right?”

Dean let out a sigh. “We haven’t received invitations yet. Perhaps Edward will forget.” He waved his hand. “He lives in the north, you know. The snow is heavy. And they’ll insist on sledding races, and all sorts of games. I’m quite sure you wouldn’t be interested in any of that.” He kept a straight face as he added his final plate to the stack on the tray. 

“I’m quite certain I will be,” Sam said. “And so will you. You have competition in your blood and you know it. If we haven’t received an invitation within two weeks, I think you should send a courier to inquire if the party has been cancelled. If it has, then you, sir, should throw a party of your own.” Sam finished the last bit of cobbler and after taking a drink of his cooling tea, stood up and headed over to the trunk Dean had pointed out to be opened next.

“What? No, I’d ruin my reputation. Christmas biscuits, mulled wine, and cherubs aren’t quite my style.” He got up off his chair, and ambled behind Sam, his curiosity piqued. “There are rumors that one of my ancestors led a double life as a pirate. The trunk appears quite… foreign in style,” he noted.

“Cherubs? No, we’d put on a fabulous Christmas party. Stuffed geese, maybe archery contests, oh and pie baking contests. Maybe even a pie eating contest in your honor,” Sam said, laughing. He studied the trunk a minute and finally figured out how to open it. “So a pirate in your past, huh? That wouldn’t surprise me,” he said. Reaching into the trunk he pulled out something that opened as he lifted it up. It was sort of globe shaped, made of silk with beautiful small decorative paintings all around it. “I’ve read about these but never seen one. I’m almost certain these are Chinese lanterns.” 

“Lanterns?” Joining Sam, Dean pulled another one out. “They appear very fragile.” He lifted one up. “You know, Prinny has a thing for arts and furnishings from the Orient. If he saw these, he’d no doubt demand them as a present to the crown. For his pavilion, in Brighton.” 

“The ones I’ve read about were made of paper. Since these are made of silk, who knows where they actually came from, though the paintings on them do look oriental. I don’t think they’re too fragile to hang. The silk seems to be in good shape. So what do you think? Add them to the decorations?” 

“Why not. In for a shilling, in for a pound,” Dean declared. Moving past Sam, he dug deeper into the trunk. “Silk wall hangings, curtains, hmmm…” He lifted what appeared to be a gold brazier. “You wouldn’t… no,” he shook his head and dropped it. He did note the coins and trinkets at the back of the trunk. He’d have to instruct Humphries to take them and bury them or hide them around the Roman ruins, along with other bits and pieces. “Right, there’s nothing else in here. Not even an eyepatch,” he said, sounding disappointed. 

“Maybe we’ll find an eyepatch in another box,” Sam offered up in comfort. He looked around. “There’s certainly plenty more boxes and trunks to investigate. How many storage rooms do you have in the manor?”

“That is confidential information, or else I have an inkling you’ll keep me up _adventuring_ all night. Come on, there’s plenty in here. How about that one,” he said pointing to one that was suspended on a beam. “Put your height to good use, Colossus.” 

“Colossus?” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’m anywhere near tall enough, or my legs long enough to straddle a port.” Sam walked over and carefully lifted the box down, giving a sneeze. “And I didn’t mean to investigate them all tonight. I don’t imagine we’ll get through everything in here tonight. But there might be other rooms filled with Christmas treasures.”

“It will take days to sort through all of this, let’s not go looking for more.” Shaking his head, Dean bent over and started to help Sam open the lid of the box. There was a padlock on it. He tugged on it a few times, and cursed when it wouldn’t give.

Straightening, he looked around then grabbed a torch meant for use outside. Positioning its metal base over the padlock, he stomped on it a few times, and then grinned at the sound of metal separating. “I know, I’m your hero,” he said, gesturing, and then sweeping his hand toward the box.

Sam laughed and shook his head. “You realize of course than Humphries probably had the key to it.” He pulled the badly sprung padlock off and opened up the trunk. He began to laugh much harder. “It seems your family stories were true,” he said as he picked up the pirate flag folded and lying on top of everything else in the chest.

“Argh… now I’m ruined,” Dean declared. Though he probably should have slammed the trunk shut and ordered its contents burned, his curiosity got the better of him. He helped unfold the flag, which was worn and scorched, and bore more than a few tears. “It’s probably the spoils of a battle between the Royal Navy and some pirate.” Course the flutter of excitement in his stomach said otherwise. “What else is there?”

“Pirates say ‘argh,’” Sam cautioned him. He pulled out a musketoon. “A naval gun often favored by pirates,” he said, handing it to Dean. He pulled out some maps and a compass and sextant, and even a fairly simple but well-made sword. “You definitely had a sailor in your past of some sort. I don’t see a logbook though or any naval insignia or sigils. Maybe you’re the great, great, grandchild of some famous pirate.”

“Perhaps. Or someone with theatrical persuasions. We have a stage. I’m told that every year, my mother would get her friends to play roles and then put on a show of sorts.” As soon as the information flew from his lips, he realized he’d made a huge mistake. “No, absolutely and positively no, no and no!” he said, backing away from Sam. 

“Oh, yes. I think we should do that!” Sam said, showing his dimples. “Much better than going to Edward’s Christmas Party. Maybe there are some books with plays in the library! I’ll start looking for them and then we can decide what play you’ll star in.” 

“Uh-uh, absolutely not. You do have a good grasp of the English language, don’t you?” Dean bumped into the tray, and caused Humphries to rush inside to collect it. “I’d like some spirits, something strong,” he said, frowning at Sam’s smile. 

“You know, I’ve a better idea. We’ll do _both_. We’ll go to the party and have a play. It will be a wonderful time,” Sam said, giving Humphries a wink as he placed the items back into the chest. “Actually, I’ve heard someone turned Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ into a script. I’ll see if I can’t get a copy for us.”

Dean merely gave a groan. “Humphries, my drink?”

“Aye your Lordship.” The man pushed the tray out of the room, and called for other servants to take it down the stairs. 

“I think you’ve managed to mesmerize him, or shock him,” Dean drawled. “Why do I get the feeling my household will never be the same?”

“And after today, you’ve still got twenty nine days to put up with me. I did promise I would keep things interesting for the one who bid on me. I’m just keeping my promise.” Sam grabbed another box and opened it. He pulled out what was obviously a baby’s outwear red and edged with white fur. ‘Dean’ was embroidered across the right side and other embroidery of pine branches and holly circled the outfit. He held it up for Dean, grinning. “Awww, I bet you were adorable in it.”

“Thirty one days,” Dean quickly corrected. “You’re with me until the eve of the first of the year. Oh God… put that back,” he said, cringing. He tried not to look as Sam picked up some other outfits. “I was never that small. Or colorful,” he protested. “It must be someone else’s.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said snickering. “I bet there are some paintings around here of you when you were a wee little thing. I’ll have to ask Humphries where all the old paintings are stored. Yes, I’m certain of it. You must have been an adorable baby.”

“Bite your tongue. There was nothing adorable about me, then or now.” As if the matter was closed, Dean headed to another trunk and used his foot to open it. “Ooh, I think you’ll enjoy these, they’re right down your alley. Fifteenth century balloon underpants,” he turned and nodded at Sam.

“Certainly got the latter part right.” Sam glanced over into the trunk. “Do they have your name embroidered on them as well? Oh, and one point for me. I got you to open your first treasure chest instead of just sitting there and watching like a bump on a log.” He grinned smugly at Dean. When Humphries returned with Dean’s drink, Sam snagged it and sat down in the chair Dean had been in. “Go on. Open another one,” he said and took a long sip of the brandy.

“Bastard,” Dean huffed, looking both frustrated and amused, which was quite a feat. “Don’t drink all of it,” he ordered. “I’m the one in need of false courage on this… this adventure of yours.” He glanced at Humphries. “You’re dismissed. For the night,” he clarified. “There’s no telling when Samuel will be done here.”

“Aye your Lordship.” Humphries gave Sam a secret smile and walked out.

“And don’t think I don’t have eyes in the back of my head,” Dean cautioned Sam, sensing a conspiracy of sorts, as he popped another trunk open.

* * *

Sam stirred the fire and added a few pieces of coal to it so the room would stay decently warm throughout the night. He turned and looked at the bed. Was he really going to be able to go through with this? He still had another night. He’d told the Duke he thought he’d be ready for greater intimacy by tomorrow night, but he wasn’t really sure. If it had been anyone but the Duke maybe this would be easier. But he still felt like a common whore.

Actually that wasn’t true. From the couple prostitutes he’d met, they might not be thrilled with their life but they didn’t feel like they were betraying their family.

“No, my family betrayed me by turning their backs on me when I needed a loan, or when I asked for a place to stay. They threw me out like a cur,” Sam growled to himself. He suddenly wondered who he hated more. The Duke for taking his estate, or his own family for turning away when he needed help. They had never had a lot of extra wealth, but his father had certainly helped out other family members through the years when they were in need. Yes, his father was a gambler and yes, he threw a lot of money at it, but he had always made sure to set enough aside for the caretaking of the manor. Sam had been foolish not to make more inquiries than he had about this father’s debts before making investments. So maybe he should be angry at himself. And angry with his father.

Sam sat down heavily on the bed. Truth be told he was pretty much pissed at the whole world. He needed a good tavern brawl, or to go out shooting or fencing. Something for him to put his anger into.

The Duke had told him to wait for him before getting undressed and into bed, but Sam just wanted to shut his eyes and make the world go away. He quickly shed his clothes, put on his sleeping shirt, and got into bed, moving to ‘his’ side of the bed. Putting his head on the pillow he closed his eyes, clenching his hands around the blankets. Just a month. Then he could go his own way and forget everything that haunted him. Simply become a new man, in the New World, in Africa, the Far East. Somewhere else. Somewhere where no one knew he was a noble with no estate, no money, no name, no pride.

Dean walked in, expecting Sam to be sitting on the comfortable arm chair or on the bed. Instead, he saw that Sam had done exactly the opposite of his request. Again.

Gritting his teeth, he stared daggers at Sam’s back. He might not have said anything, but the noisy manner in which he undressed would send a clear message about his displeasure, if Sam was awake. 

Peeling the bed clothes up, Dean sat, then stretched out on the bed. He put his hands under his head, and stared at the canopy above. Perhaps this had been a mistake. He should never has accepted Missouri’s bet. And while there were times when he found himself enjoying Sam’s company, moments like this made him think the laughter and the smiles were false. The man still hated him. And his bed was going to be cold for far too long, unless he returned Sam.

For whatever reason, he knew he wouldn’t do that. And that he’d let Sam keep the gains from the auction. And that rankled him too. He was a man who did not abide by people failing to meet their bargains. 

Although Sam’s eyes were closed, he heard Dean’s annoyed huff . It was obvious he was upset, making near enough noise to rouse the dead as he got ready for bed. When Sam felt Dean’s weight dip the mattress, he waited for Dean’s arm to wrap around him, but it didn’t happened.

“I would--I would like it very much if you held me like you did last night. I’m feeling rather… alone,” Sam said softly startled by the sudden tears in his eyes. “I don’t like to go to bed and not fall asleep right away. It gives a man far too much time to think on things. I’m sorry I didn’t wait on you, but--but my mind was going to places that were unpleasant. I thought maybe if I laid down it would help.” He sniffled a bit. “But it didn’t.”

Dean was prepared not to believe him, but he heard the catch in his voice. The sniff. Unbending, he rolled to his side and moved close. Then he enveloped Sam in his embrace, resting his chin against Sam’s shoulder. “I’ve made a decision,” he said. “You do not have to go through with your carnal obligations under the contract. I will not consider it a breach, nor report it as such. That should restore your sleep to you,” he said, a little bitterly. 

Sam interlaced his fingers with Dean’s. “That is kind of you,” he said, “but this, my sadness, my current situation is merely an eddy in the swirl of the turmoil I’m feeling tonight. I’m angry at you, at myself, my father, my family--the world. Anger is all I seem to have inside me when I let everything else around me fall away. The way you so easily hold me, even knowing I bear a grudge against you, you hold me as if you care. You kiss me as if you care. And I do not know what to make of that, or of you. I do know that, here, in this moment, I am glad to be in your arms and not feel the weight of the world crushing me, because I feel protected. And I have not felt such safety in a very long time.”

“I can’t promise you the world is a safe place. Or that I’m a safe man,” Dean said, holding Sam just a little tighter. “But I understand a thing or two about the rise and fall of fortunes, be they monetary or otherwise. My way through it has always been to plan ahead. To think of the steps needed to be taken to get to the next level. As for anger, I know its meaning as well. But I am not one to hold grudges, because I’ve seen grudges destroy the holder and the people around them.” He leaned over Sam, and kissed his cheek. “You’ve already taken the first steps to freeing yourself from a life of poverty. The possibilities are endless.”

Sam relaxed into Dean. “I know the world is not safe. I know you can be a very dangerous man, unyielding. It has been difficult to plan ahead when the only thing you can think of is working to make enough money to feed yourself and have a warm dry place to sleep. Sometimes those days are easier. You don’t have time to dwell on the shithole your life has become.” Sam twisted his head and brushed his lips over the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Thank you for not letting the Toothless One take me home. I will keep my contract with you. I haven’t much left, and some would say even my honor is long gone, but I have never broken a contract that I affixed my name to the bottom of or agreed upon with a handshake. I will be a good and dutiful lover for you. I promise.” He closed his eyes. “Starting tomorrow night. However, I cannot promise I won’t be an annoying twat on a daily basis.” 

“I believe that is a given,” Dean said with a slight huff. “We’ll go slow, Sam. We don’t have to become lovers in one night. As for Carrington, I am trying to be glad you found me less distasteful than him. It’s a bit difficult. Sleep now, and stop thinking.”

“I’ll make you glad for it,” Sam said and for once, listened to Dean, shut his eyes, and went to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The area of the ruins had been prepared for them long before they arrived in the afternoon. Chairs, baskets of food, wine and lemonade were set up under the trees. 

A blanket was spread out on the ground, with a few pillows thrown on it. But the servants were forbidden from speculating as to the reasons.

Dean held a glass of lemonade in his hand, his foot resting on the spade of the shovel in his hand as he watched Sam. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck there, see where the lion head used to be? Dig right under there,” he suggested, bringing the glass to his mouth.

Sam studied it a minute and gave a shrug, but noticed the spade went in much easier than it had elsewhere. He heard a chink against the metal of the spade and stopped. “I’ve hit metal!” he said excitedly. He dropped to his knees and began carefully scooping out small cups of dirt, pouring them out, sorting through the dirt, then getting another cupful.

“Yes, there are… coins!” Sam said and pulled out the smattering. He studied one of the coins, wiping its face clean. Then he glared at Dean. “This isn’t Roman. You had the place salted with stuff didn’t you? You really don’t get the whole idea of treasure hunt do you?” Sam wasn’t really angry. It _had_ been fun thinking he’d really found something, but it kind of annoyed him all the same.

“Hold on,” Dean raised a hand up. “Those treasure hunts with your dad, they involved items that were hidden by someone, right? I just took a page out of his book. So, your challenge is to find the hidden items, and they are ‘treasures,’” he said. “And if we find anything Roman, then I’ll serenade you all the way home.” 

Sam stood and put his hands on his hips. “Then you better get a song or two ready because I _will_ find something Roman just to have you sing to me!” Sam carried the coins over and set them on the table, giving Dean a light shove along the way. “C’mon, put your back into it, dig!” 

Sam went to a different place and began turning over a few spadesful of dirt here and there, and poking through it. Now he _really_ wanted to find something Roman, thought admittedly, maybe Dean would get the treasure hunting bug if he was the one to find something really exquisite. Hmm, turnabout was fair play, Sam thought, making a note to himself to talk to Humphries when they got back from their dig. 

“It’s quite fun, standing in the hot sun, watching you bend over and dig,” Dean drawled, giving a slow grin as he very obviously leaned to the side to leer. 

Sam wiggled his butt at Dean. “Why do you think I want you to do some real digging, eh? And the sun may be hot, but it is December so the only thing hot out here is you, from watching my cute butt. Which also has dimples.”

“You know, I just may have an artist come out and paint you, and your dimples. All your dimples,” Dean said, pointing at Sam, before ambling around the site, kicking at a rock, and then finding a place to dig. 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sam laughed. “That view is for you and you alone.” Sam began to dig near one of the walls. He was about six inches down when he stopped and began scraping back more dirt. “Dean! A mosaic! I found part of a mosaic in the floor of this building! Help me get it uncovered!” Sam was grinning broader than a kid in a candy shop at Christmastime. The thought Dean would have to serenade him now hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Right,” Dean didn’t even turn around. “And a whole treasure chest to boot, correct? I am not so easily tricked, my sexy friend with shy dimples.” Once more, he drove the shovel into the ground, then tossed earth and clumps of grass and weed behind him in a quickly growing mound.

“I’m serious you jerk! Get your noble butt over here and help me dig!” Sam said, half laughing as he pulled back more grass and dirt.

“I suppose I’d rather have a noble butt than merely a cute butt,” Dean muttered, kicking the dirt away and then walking over to Sam. When he bent down, he saw that Sam was entirely serious. “That doesn’t count as treasure, since it is not a movable item. Therefore, there won’t be any serenading,” he declared, using a hand shovel to help Sam. “I must say, it’s very well preserved,” he mused as more of the mosaic was unearthed.

“Hah. Nothing says we can’t break the foundation and take the floor back to your manor for display. Or even contact the London museum. You, my handsome Duke, _are_ going to be serenading me even if this is all we find!” Sam was enthusiastically, if carefully, scraping back the dirt. He stopped suddenly and picked up a small clump of dirt. He gently broke the clod apart and triumphantly held up a small silver coin. “Hard to be sure until it’s cleaned, but I’d say we definitely just found treasure.” He took hold of Dean’s wrist, turned his hand palm up, and placed the coin in Dean’s hand, then folded his fingers around it. “For you. A memento of your first treasure hunt.” Smiling, he lightly kissed Dean on the cheek.

“Humphries is very good.” Dean gave Sam a look, and then opened his palm. “Very good indeed.” The silver piece certainly looked worn. “Are you gloating? You _are_ gloating,” Dean accused, pocketing the treasure. “I believe your time would be better spent digging.” 

“Are you pouting? You _are_ pouting!” Sam tossed back and continued to dig. It wasn’t long before the floor ended and random broken-up rocks were all that remained where Sam was digging. He moved, and began clearing away the dirt, only to have the mosaic and floor end in rubble.

Dean snorted. “Well, I think that rules out archeology as a prospective career.” Digging in the other direction, he revealed more of the mosaic. “You’re giving up, are you?” he asked over his shoulder. “Isn’t this a wonderful time for a glass of something or other?”

“I’m not giving up!” Sam protested. “The mosaic ends here. You just got the big section apparently.” Sam moved again. “I think you can manage to dig a bit more before we take a break, maybe have our picnic, even.”

“Seriously?” Dean demanded, though he hadn’t stopped digging, and he was very curious as to what was depicted. “You realize you’ve been ordering me about like a laborer for, oh, over an hour now?”

“Have not! You asked if this was a wonderful time to take a break and I said no I’d rather keep digging. If you’re too tired, and your noble constitution can’t keep up,” Sam shrugged, “by all means, take a break. I’m going to dig a little more because I want to see the full image.”

“Well you’re not about to see it before me,” Dean declared. Then he chuckled under his breath, because he truly was enjoying himself. They dug in silence for a while longer, and then he started to laugh again. “Let’s just hope it’s not anything you’d see on the walls of certain bordellos in Pompeii. I took a trip there once, with my grandmother. It was the best trip ever, and you would not believe how angry she was that they wouldn’t let her in to see the walls of the bordello. She almost knocked the tour guide over with her reticule, shouting she’d show him who was prone to ‘vapors.’ That’s the reason they gave her for not allowing women inside to view the mosaics and paintings.”

Sam couldn’t help grinning to himself. “You’ve been to Pompeii? That must have been interesting. I’d like to see the sphinx and the pyramids, and the palladium… Yeah, so many wondrous things out there. So did you get them upon seeing the pictures? Vapors, that is?”

“No, but let’s just say I spent a lot of money that evening and cannot remember where and on whom.” He glanced at Sam. “Don’t you go having the vapors on me, now. It’s quite possible that I did nothing that was depicted in the pictures.” 

Dean moved around the mosaic and started digging from yet another angle.

“I’m not vapor prone,” Sam said, pulling back more grass and weeds. “I’ll bet you did everything depicted in those pictures and made up a few new ones to boot. You strike me as the creative type.”

“I’m not about to answer. If I agree, I’m a rake. And if I disagree, I’m a dead bore. I think it might be best if I allow you to dig through everything you hear and see and feel, and find out what I am, for yourself.” Having cleared his side, he tossed the shovel aside and wiped his palms together. 

“I’m sure there’s plenty of gossip about,” Sam said with a nod, “that it shouldn’t be too hard to find out if you are a rake or not.” He brushed some dirt away and saw the fishtailed horse. “A hippocampus!” he declared, then looked at the twisted ropes of blues and reds inlaid in elaborate patterns. “It’s beautiful. Looks like I am almost done here. Would you care to have lunch as soon as I finish this last bit?” Sam asked, continuing to dig.

Dean moved over to look. “It is rather beautiful, and well preserved. I’ll get some water, so we can wash off the dirt and see it in its full glory.” He tried to sound nonchalant despite the sensation of butterflies flittering about in his stomach.

Sam merely nodded and worked on getting the last of the dirt away from the mosaic parts that had survived. He stood up as Dean returned with the water. They carefully rinsed it off, Sam using his hands to brush away a few stubborn streaks of dirt. He grinned and looked at Dean. “You can’t tell me that’s not treasure.”

“Alright, it’s treasure,” Dean admitted, passing Sam a white kerchief. “We’ll have to make sure that steps are taken to preserve it. Okay, alright, you were right,” he raised his hand in defeat as he felt Sam’s gaze and knew the man was waiting for more. “I’ve eaten humble pie, satisfied?” 

“Yes, so long as you also admit it was rather fun to find something here.” Sam gave a nod of thanks for the kerchief and wiped his wet hands free of the last remnants of dirt.

“Well it wasn’t ‘not fun,’” Dean admitted. “And you still have eight of Humphries’ treasures to uncover as well.” He lightly slapped Sam’s back, and walked over to the table to select something to eat. “You know what would be great fun? Dessert first.” Seeing none on the table, he looked through the basket and pulled out a note. “Blast it. Dessert will be discretely served after lunch.”

“Sounds like Humphries knows a young boy who always tried to eat his dessert first and spoiled his appetite,” Sam said, chuckling. “And that would be _we_ still have eight treasures to uncover.” Sam walked over and joined Dean at the table. “So what’s for lunch?”

Dean passed Sam a plate. “Cold chicken, cheese platter, something fit for a rabbit,” he said pointing at a vegetable dish, “finger sandwiches. Egg salad sandwiches, you’ll enjoy those. Baby potatoes and, why do I sound like some sort of waiter? Have a look, see what you like.” He started helping himself, though he stole a glance at Sam. 

Sam took a sampling of the finger sandwiches, some potatoes that he laid cheese across, some of the salad, and small piece of chicken. “Quite a nice little picnic,” Sam said approvingly. “Try putting cheese on the potatoes. It’s really good,” he said as he bit into a potato covered with a slice of cheddar. “Mmmm.” 

Dean gave a nod. “Wine or champagne spiked lemonade?” he asked, going to the chest filled with ice blocks and water. A few pitchers rested in the water. 

“Lemonade would be good,” Sam said and handed his glass to Dean. “Thank you. I wish it was warm enough to go swimming, or cold enough to go ice skating. Do you have a favorite swimming hole around here? You’ll have to show it to me and tell me of your daring adventures.”

“You like to swim?” An enigmatic expression crossed over Dean’s face. “Then you will _love_ my eccentric forbears. I’ll have a surprise for you, if not tomorrow, then the next day. If I forget, I’m sure you’ll remind me.” He went ahead and added champagne to Sam’s lemonade. “You’ll like it,” he promised, used to dictating to others.

Sam nodded. “I love to swim. My parents used to accuse me of being a merman in disguise. Or a monkey since if I wasn’t at the swimming hole, I was probably climbing trees. I don’t climb trees anymore, well, usually, but I still like to swim if I can.” Sam gave Dean a dubious look about the lemonade spiked with champagne. Plain lemonade would have suited him. “And yes, I will be certain to remind you. I like surprises. Do you? Like surprises?”

“Not particularly. No,” Dean decided, nodding to the chairs and small tables that they could put in front of them. He sat down. “Well don’t look so shocked about it. One person’s dashing idea might be another’s nightmare.”

“So you don’t like… surprise birthday parties? Or an old friend showing up unannounced? Or your favorite dessert when you were expecting three-day old cake?” After putting his food and drink on the table, Sam settled into one of the chairs and stretched his long legs out. “....or good morning surprises?” he finished innocently as Dean took a sip of his own drink.

Dean sputtered, and pulled the glass from his mouth. His eyes promised revenge, as he answered in an equally falsely innocent tone, “Hmmm. Unfortunately, no one’s offered any of those to me _lately_.”

“Since you don’t like surprises, I can understand that,” Sam said, his eyes twinkling with mirth and challenging Dean to bring on the revenge. “A definite shame, that. But I will keep it in mind.” Sam took a drink of his lemonade and gave Dean a sidelong glance. “I think you like trying to get me drunk.”

“Just a few drops should do it, then,” Dean nodded. “You’re quite the lightweight.” It was untrue of course. Yesterday, they’d practically gorged on spirits at the tavern, and there was good reason for Sam’s condition. He took a large bite of his sandwich. “Don’t turn your head too quickly, but I believe we’ve been found out and there are gawkers.”

“If any of them are kids, we can put them to work at finding Humphries’ treasures,” Sam said. “And I am not a lightweight.” Turning his head, he gave a slight nod to the onlookers, startled to discover they were indeed children.

“Oh, I knew you’d see the point in having diggers do the digging for us,” Dean said triumphantly. “Over here. All of you. Come on, then,” he added, seeing their hesitation. “Grab shovels, and take your orders from Master Samuel. Pretend I’m not here, don’t look to me,” he added, knowing they’d otherwise be looking to him for the orders. “Have at them, my lightweight friend.” Grinning, Dean piled more food onto his own plate and left the kids, ranging from what appeared to be age five to maybe fourteen, to Sam to deal with.

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. “Right, get your shovels. Let’s pair you up. This is going to be a group treasure hunt, but we’ll have teams, partners who have to help each other.” Sam began pairing older with younger, and approved of some of the two or three person teams the boys and girls made. “Okay, the first time, the youngest chooses a spot they think might be good for digging, then the oldest loosens the dirt in that area, then the teams get down on their knees and dig with the smaller spades until most of the dirt is moved. You do that twice more before you let me know you haven’t found anything. All of you, spread out near that stone wall that’s fallen. That’s probably a good place to hunt for treasure. There will be treasure enough for everyone by the end of the day, I’m sure of it! Go on, start digging!” 

Sam returned to Dean’s side. “I don’t know whether you are demon or angel in disguise.” He pulled out the extra cups that had been brought, now understanding their purpose, and began filling them with some water from the melting ice and a touch of lemonade. 

“To be honest, I think I must be a fool.” Dean’s gaze went to the blanket and pillows, then he shook his head. There certainly wasn’t going to be any of _those_ activities now. “Look at that little one go,” he pointed.

Sam looked up in time to see dirt flying sky high as one of the younger kids was tossing dirt enthusiastically in all directions. Sam gave a sharp whistle. “Slow your partner down! You have to search through the dirt you’re digging out for treasure. You can’t do that if the dirt is landing on everyone else!”

Sam gave a small chuckle. “We will have to reward them with something, you know. Or at least, we should.” 

“I’m quite sure they will be more than happy to devour our picnic food. You’d best eat your fill,” he advised. “It’s a fact that children have stomachs that are twice the size of adults.” Taking his own advice, Dean stuffed his mouth. “You could add a few coins to the dirt they dig out, so they find them when they’re putting it back.”

“I’ll wait until we see what they uncover. The coins will add more to the excitement when it begins to wane a bit but it’s a good idea. About the food as well.” Sam sat down and snagged a bit more to eat. “Now I understand why dessert will be served later. So the children can get some of the fine pastries made in your kitchen. Humphries is an even wiser man than I suspected.” 

“What? No!” Dean almost spilled his drink and glared at Sam. “They will be done and cleared out before dessert.” He was only half-joking. When he looked at Sam, he suddenly grinned and reached out to rub a dirt smudge off Sam’s cheek. “I think you’re as bad as they are.”

“A part of me refuses to completely grow up,” Sam acknowledged. Rather than flinching, he leaned into Dean’s touch. “Though one who refuses to share his dessert might be a tad more demon than angel, you know.”

“Fallen angel, I like it.” Running his thumb over Sam’s lips, and giving him a wickedly hot look, knowing he wouldn’t be chastised here, now, he let his hand slide down Sam’s chest, before schooling his face to look innocent. “I do believe I felt your heart jump,” he said, not so innocently.

Sam felt a slight flush touch his cheeks, because Dean wasn’t entirely wrong. “That’s only because your hand is cold,” Sam lied. “But you know what they say, cold hands, warm heart.” He caught Dean’s hand and held it, even as Dean’s gaze held his. He couldn’t deny he was feeling a bit conflicted. The Duke seemed to be a far kinder man than he’d ever considered possible. At least when business wasn’t involved.

“Do they say that?” Dean would neither acknowledge nor deny it. But he couldn’t deny the elation he felt at the thought that Sam was actually unbending. He threaded his fingers through Sam’s, giving his hand a squeeze. His gaze skimmed over Sam’s flushed cheeks and he was gripped by a strong desire to kiss him. 

“Yes, they do. I haven’t decided yet if it’s true,” he said, licking his lips and seeing the desire in Dean’s face. “Do the… people in your dukedom know of your… preferences?” he asked softly, glancing momentarily at Dean’s lips before returning to meet his moss-colored eyes. He noticed for the first time the flecks of gold in those beautiful eyes.

“My reputation, with _both_ sexes, precedes me.” Dean gave a slow smile, “but I’ve never brought anyone here, to my country seat, if that is what you’re asking.” His gaze dropped to Sam’s lips. “However, if you plan to try to go back into society after this, then you should probably pull away now. We’ve left your chaperone behind.” Though the children would not know Sam’s family name, and Sam had yet to tell him what it was and whether he was going to be introduced to others under a pseudonym. The terms of their contract were clear that Dean was to protect Sam’s reputation. 

Sam let out a slow breath. “My future is, as yet, uncertain, and my preferences were always kept discreet. It was always assumed I would wed, so there might be heirs, though the latter is likely no longer a concern.” Sam sat back. “Your words are wise. Thank you,” he said sincerely. He lifted Dean’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Best I check on our treasure hunters and see if any are ready to move to a new dig site.”

“That does it. I’m all angel,” Dean muttered, as Sam made his escape.

Adding champagne to his glass, Dean observed the group for a while. Then he stood up and ambled over, standing next to the diggers and watching them. He didn’t know how it happened, but one child’s plea for aid lead to another, and soon he was helping a team that was not doing as well as some of the others who’d found a few trinkets.

* * *

By the time dessert was brought out, many trinkets had been discovered, as well as a few real objects from the distant past. One group of children had discovered a green glob of something, and Sam helped them carefully dig it out. After a bit of cursory cleaning, he suspected it was a bronze or copper brooch. He set it aside for further cleaning, promising the children after he’d done what he could to salvage it, he would let them see it in its cleaned form. Another coin was found, but it was only a few decades old at best. After replacing the dirt (and finding a few more coins and trinkets in the process) in the holes they’d dug, the group gathered all the found ‘treasures’ into a basket. Sam gave the children water to drink and to rinse off the worst of the dirt on their hands and faces. 

Spreading out the blankets, the children sat on them for the eating of dessert while Sam sat with Dean at the table. Each child was given two coppers for their hard work and the team that found one of Humphries’ larger stashes was given necklaces made of leather with a few glass beads on them.

Sam promised them they would go on another treasure hunt, provided the Duke gave his permission for them to dig in the ruins. The children gave the duke hopeful looks as they headed home, coins and trinkets clutched happily in their hands.

“A resounding success, and a few more treasures yet to find if the ground doesn’t freeze,” Sam said. “You had fun. Admit it.” 

“Fun? You call that fun? I felt like I’d fathered a parcel of brats, including one very, very large one.” Despite his words, Dean’s relaxed demeanor and his smile told the truth. “They were--you were all very loud, and dirty and…” he trailed off. 

“...and the largest brat of all looked very sexy, especially when he tripped and fell backward over some of the stones. You were laughing, yes, but I saw your look as you helped me back to my feet,” Sam said, knowingly cocking an eyebrow at him. He was lucky he hadn’t cracked his skull open on one of the chunks of rock scattered about. “And you said you had a surprise to show me today. Something to do with my affinity for swimming and ice skating. I rather hope it is swimming, but perhaps a hot bath first, as the wind is growing chilly and my cheeks are growing red, and this time not from embarrassment.”

“I said I would show you _tomorrow_ ,” Dean countered. “But I would happily give you a bath, or take one with you.” Grabbing a handful of Sam’s shirt, Dean slowly pulled him close. He’d waited long enough. Slanting his mouth over Sam’s tempting lips, he thrust his tongue just past his teeth, and engaged his tongue in a playful dance. 

Sam took a moment to respond and felt Dean start to pull away, but he gripped Dean’s shirt and pulled him back. He honestly wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of the romantic moves and it still made him pause. At least that’s what he told himself, though he thought there was some truth to it. He tangled his tongue with the Duke’s, the lingering aftertaste of dessert sweetening their kiss. It took restraint on his part not to chase the Duke’s tongue back into his own mouth.

He’d been prepared to let Sam slip from his grasp, when Sam started to respond. Giving a soft moan, Dean closed his arms around Sam, deepening the kiss, as he pulled him down to the blanket. He didn’t roll on top of Sam, but lay next to him, keeping his kiss well-controlled and playful. He wanted Sam to get used to him, and he didn’t intend to scare him with his passion. 

Sam slowly ran his hand along Dean’s side and then up and down his back as he continued to kiss him. He pushed away the thoughts crowding his mind about exactly who he was kissing and what the man had cost him. That was the Duke, he told himself. This was Dean. Maybe if he could segregate the two in his mind he could continue to hate the Duke… and maybe… sort of… a little… like… _Dean._

Clutching that concept with all his strength, Sam kissed Dean back a little more intensely, a soft groan coming from his throat. He’d been so long alone... 

The sexy groan sent blood surging to Dean’s cock. Giving a groan of his own, he cupped the side of Sam’s face, holding him in place as he kissed him thoroughly. He drew in a breath, then kissed him again more gently, this time mapping his mouth, memorizing his taste, and savoring the soft sounds coming from him. 

By the time Dean broke the kiss, he was as flushed as Sam. “I wasn’t taking advantage. Just warming you up. Us up,” he said, thickly, grabbing Sam’s hand and pulling him up to a sitting position. 

“It was--effective,” Sam admitted, almost sheepishly. “It was nice,” he added. Yes, he’d enjoyed it more than he wanted to say. “It’s been a nice day.” He suddenly grinned. “And I can’t wait for the serenade on the way back to your manor.” 

Dean ran a hand over his face. “Clearly you haven’t had enough champagne. Or you’ve had too much, if you really want to hear me sing.” 

He got up, and once again, pulled Sam up and held his hand as they walked to the horses which had been brought by the servants. When they reached them, Dean lightly gripped Sam’s hips and kissed him once more. 

“Dare I hope you’re too dazed to remember?” he asked, swinging his leg up and mounting his horse.

“Certainly not that dazed,” Sam countered, “and yes, I wish to hear what songs I bring to your mind,” he said and mounted his own horse. With a light click of his tongue and gentle squeeze of his legs, Sam urged Jericho into a slow walk back toward the house, smiling as Dean began to sing, even if it was a bit off-key.

* * * 

Although he’d threatened to help Sam bathe, Dean allowed him to be lead off to a bathing chamber. He gave Humphries some instructions about the surprise he had in store for Sam, and the butler’s eyes widened. The old man even gave a clap, and then appeared embarrassed at his display, as the butler left the Duke to take his own bath in the room adjoining his bedchamber.

Dean was quick and efficient with his bathing. He pulled on a white silk night shirt, and loose pants of the same material. They weren’t going to have a formal dinner downstairs this evening and he would likely merely put a robe on, once his body cooled off from the hot bath.

He casually headed down the hall and walked into Sam’s bath chamber, silently motioning for the attendant to leave the room. Taking the towel the attendant had been holding, Dean leaned against the door frame and took his fill of the sight of Sam relaxing in the tub. The hot water steamed around him. He had his head back, and his eyes were closed. His lips were slightly parted, and so damned inviting, Dean’s fingers tightened around the towel. He wondered what the young man was thinking. 

Sam had to say, it really had been a good day. Treasure hunting, finding that old Roman mosaic, watching the children play and discover. Dessert. Okay, so maybe he’d never really had a sweet tooth. Pie, cake, it was all the same to him. Something to have around harvest and holidays. But the kitchen staff here really knew their stuff and he knew he could get used to having little desserts a couple times a month, or maybe even a couple times a week.

Dean serenading him on the way back to the manor had been priceless, and some of the words Dean had made up to well-known drinking songs were still stuck in his head and made him chuckle occasionally. He’d expected Dean to make good on his word about bathing him, so he was surprised when Dean had sent him off alone. Actually, taking a small break from the Duke was kind of nice. Sitting in the luxury of a hot bath, having a servant scrub his back clean, yes, it harkened back to the old days. He was content to just lay there, getting the cold out of his bones, and enjoying some privacy.

Eyes still closed, he breathed in a deep breath of the scented water. Smiling he began to sing quietly.

_Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone,  
All her lovely companions are faded and gone,  
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh,  
To reflect back her blushes and give sigh for sigh…_

For a while, Dean listened, a smile coming unbidden to his lips. How was it that the things this man did, the simple things, made him smile and laugh or feel lightness inside? After a few more stanzas, he joined in the song, his voice an octave or two lower than Sam’s. 

Sam opened his eyes and sat up suddenly. Finishing the verse he splashed water in Dean’s general direction. “You were not supposed to learn I can really sing for at least another week,” he complained, but noted that Dean’s voice complimented his. “And you can sing better than you pretend.”

Dean laughed, looking down at a few wet spots on his shirt, glad he was standing far. “Well I’m not drunk, and I have accompaniment, don’t I? Anyway, this is an excellent development, for reasons you’ll find out a little later.” He pointed at Sam. “Don’t complain, you’re the one who likes mysteries and surprises.”

Sam gave him a mild, brief glare. “Not when you are too solidly smug about them,” he said, but then a slight smile touched his lips. “Is that my towel? Are you going to drag me from the warm water and dry me off? And here I thought you’d like me hot and wet,” he said, then looked concerned. “Wait, am I supposed to have a biting wit right now? I haven’t said anything evil to you in at least a few hours.”

“Well it was rather evil of you to make me dig, and play in the dirt. What would happen to my reputation if word got out?” Dean asked, holding the towel from the edges, and letting the rest of it unfurl. 

He slowly walked to the tub, keeping his gaze focused on Sam’s face. “You are that. Hot.” Wet or dry, he thought, letting his eyes speak for him. “Come on out, Master Samuel, before you faint from the heat.”

Sam shook his head a little and stood up. He saw no point in being shy or coy. Dean had already seen him naked, and soon they would be lovers. “Hot water does not make me faint,” he said. “Surely you don’t think my constitution is so--” As Sam shifted to turn fully toward Dean, his foot slipped in the cast iron tub. Water splashed as he grabbed the edge of tub with one hand and Dean’s shoulder with the other to keep from falling. “You--you apparently make me far clumsier than I truly am,” he said, finding his gaze once again locked with Dean’s.

Dean automatically wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist, to help him find his balance, bringing Sam up against him in the process. Since he’d been gripping the towel, it now separated their bodies. But it did nothing to cushion Dean from the heat emanating from Sam’s body, or from every plane and angle of his physique now pressing against him. 

Licking his lips, Dean closed the towel around Sam, but didn’t release him. “I could carry you to the bedroom, just to be sure you don’t slip again.” 

“And completely embarrass me the rest of the way? Spare me a bit of dignity,” Sam said, his hand slipping from Dean’s shoulder to his back, the silky nightshirt clinging to his wet palm. “Seems I like you wet, too,” Sam said, then gave a soft huff of laughter. He carefully stepped out of the tub with Dean still holding him close. Licking his own lips, he tilted his head, slanting his mouth over Dean’s, kissing him.

Dean sighed into the kiss, Sam’s warm mouth, and steaming body, doing things to him. He took a step back, still holding onto him, kissing him back, loving how he tasted, how he forced Dean to chase his tongue. It wasn’t intentional, but Dean released the towel. It was still trapped between their bodies, but his hands were now free to roam over Sam’s bare skin, to map out his broad, well-muscled shoulders, narrow waist, and smooth, firm ass.

Dean’s hands had the soft calluses of gentry, from practicing the art of fencing and sword-play, pistols, and horse riding. He had those himself once, but now bore new calluses on his hands. Calluses from scythes and spades, from being a poor peasant worker. He ran those callused hands down Dean’s silk covered back, caressing down as far as his lower back, but going no lower. When they finally broke for air, Sam pulled back a little. “I should probably dry off and get dressed before all that heat from the bathwater is wasted and I get cold again.” 

“As you wish.” Finding the edges of the towel draping against Sam’s hips and thighs, Dean pulled it up, and stepping back, wrapped the towel around Sam. He leaned in once, sniffing Sam’s throat. “Do not tell me whose idea it was to bathe you with my soap.” It affected him more than he’d like to admit, and he didn’t want to associate the idea with someone like Humphries.

Sam laughed. “No, I chose it. I liked the smell.” He adjusted the towel around him.

Putting his hand out, Dean started to lead Sam to the bed chamber. “You’ve made me all wet, but I’m not complaining.”

Wondering suddenly if Dean was ready to take their companionship to the next level, a rush of confusion and reluctance filled Sam. He started to pull his hand out of Dean’s, then forced himself to behave properly. If Dean wanted more, Sam would give it to him. He gave Dean’s hand a slight squeeze and nodded for Dean to lead on, pasting a smile on his lips in the process. 

Dean looked back, having felt Sam’s hesitation. He searched his face, and frowned. “I promised I wouldn’t ravish you, I keep my word,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “If it’s something else, tell me.” Slowly, he pulled his hand out of Sam’s, not wanting to ruin what felt like the start of a friendship.

Sam took Dean’s hand back in his own. “No, I just--” Sam gave a shrug. “I’m still getting used to this. That’s all. My mind jumps far ahead of where it should. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood. But I do have a very serious question for you,” he said, his face growing grave. “I miss having… slippers.” He looked down at his bare feet, wriggled his toes, and then looked back to Dean’s face. “Rather a lot. Might I get some in the near future?”

Dean’s eyebrows rose up, then he burst out laughing. Walking ahead, he turned around. “Well you see, I do have a toe fetish, so I was purposely keeping your feet out of slippers.” 

He nodded at the nightclothes that were laid out on the bed for Sam. They were similar to his. He walked around to Sam’s side of the bed, stuck his foot under, sweeping it around until Sam’s slippers toppled out. “Your wish, my command.”

Sam grimaced at the thought of a toe fetish, then broke into a broad grin at seeing the fur lined slippers. He hurried to them and quickly worked his feet into them. “Ahhh. These are perfect. I feel warmer already.” Sam brushed his lips over Dean’s. “Thank you. Now turn around so I can dry off and get dressed.” He physically turned Dean to face away from him, then pulled the towel loose. With an efficient sawing of the towel over his bare skin, he was dry, and slipped into the outfit laid out for him, pulling off the slippers to step into the pants, then quickly putting them back on. “You can turn around now, for your reward.” 

Even without looking, Dean was aware of Sam’s movements. That he was naked. And then he was imagining him tugging on the silky soft night clothes. That led to thoughts of removing them. “Reward? For the slippers, or for being good?” Dean asked as he turned around slowly.

“Both,” Sam said, smiling. He stepped close, resting his hands on Dean’s waist and looking down into Dean’s face. “I have to say, those freckles make you just adorable.” Before Dean could protest the presence of freckles, Sam pulled him into a slow, romantic kiss, taking his time investigating Dean’s mouth as his hands slowly roved over Dean’s back. Tenderly, he caressed Dean’s back, massaging his shoulders, his lower back, and even the muscular curves of his ass.

Forcing himself to relax, and to allow Sam to take the lead, Dean gave a soft sigh and kissed Sam back. Very slowly, he put one arm around Sam’s shoulder, cupping his neck and playing with his silky soft, still wet, hair. Resting his other hand on Sam’s hip, he moved a little closer, so their bodies touched. 

Sam let himself get lost in the kiss, in the exploration. He slid one hand to Dean’s cheek, his thumb brushing gently over Dean’s cheek a few times before he entwined his long fingers in Dean’s silky hair. Keeping the kisses soft and loving, he tightened his other arm around Dean’s back, so their bodies went from touching lightly, to being pressed together.

Just the slight shift bringing their bodies into firm contact sent a thrill though Dean. He closed his free arm around Sam, molding him even closer. Breaking the kiss, he feathered kisses across Sam’s lips, resisting the need to thrust his tongue inside. Sliding his mouth along the column of Sam’s neck, he nipped lightly, then drew his head up to look into Sam’s eyes, his breath catching at Sam’s beauty.

“Sometimes,” Sam said, “a look enters your eyes, crosses your face, like you’re young and innocent, and can still be amazed by the simplest things. Like you treasure every moment. I like it when I see that in your face. Of course, there always seems to be a sparkle of mischief right alongside it. So what would you have next on our agenda for this eve?” he asked, running his fingers through Dean’s hair once again, smoothing down a few errant strands in the process.

“You make me sound like the boy I never was,” Dean chuckled, stealing one more kiss before releasing Sam. “Let’s get our robes on, we’re having dinner on the balcony, and we’ll watch for carolers. Humphries will have put a basket of pennies out there for us to toss down. I probably shouldn’t admit to you that he usually stands in for me.”

Sam accepted the robe Dean handed him, and pulled it on. “It all depends on what you’re typically doing when Humphries is at the balcony, tossing down pennies. So what is it you’re usually doing?”

Dean shook his head. “Anything but tossing down pennies? I’m often in London, or if I’m here, I busy myself with work or books, or, right, I’ll shut up now.” Pulling his own robe on, he went next to the bed and tugged on the bell-pull to advise Humphries that they were ready to be served.

“Come,” he nodded, and walked to the double doors, pushing them open to the balcony overlooking the gardens. Fire pits had been placed on either side of the dinner table and was sure to keep the cold away. “All that digging around has given me a great appetite.”

“You don’t enjoy Christmas Carols? Have you ever gone caroling?” Sam asked, settling into a chair. He gave a sigh as the heat from the fires washed over him. “It’s great fun. You sing, build snowmen, and have snowball fights. Assuming of course that you have snow,” Sam said, looking out into the night, and hearing the occasional swirl of fallen leaves when the wind blew. 

“Let’s just say it wasn’t encouraged in this household, at least after my mother passed away. But yes, I’ve gone, or rather been cajoled into going caroling when I’ve visited friends.” He enjoyed the expressions crossing Sam’s features, his excitement about something as minor as caroling. It was somehow catching, seeming to send sparks of life through Dean. “And I plan to enjoy them now, with you,” he added pointedly. 

“I love the carolers. They bring such spirit into the season. I like caroling too, but I must admit I usually don’t go out caroling until I’ve been into the wassail.” Sam chuckled. “Since you’ve heard my intoxicated serenades, you can imagine what caroling with a well-wassailed soused up me would be like. But if you can’t make a fool of yourself at Christmas, when can you, right?”

“I quite like your voice. The subjects of your songs might be a bit,” Dean he gestured with his hand to indicate ‘iffy,’ then smiled. “Perhaps after all the carolers are gone, you’ll serenade me again.”

“I could probably be persuaded to do that, especially with a bit of mulled wine to loosen my tongue and my windpipes. But you’ll have to tell me what songs you want me to sing so they’ll be less,” Sam moved his hand in mimicry of the way Dean had. “Or I’m sure I can come up with more bawdy songs, if you’d rather.” He chuckled. “Though those might not be Christmas appropriate.”

Humphries cleared his throat, and the servants started filling their wine glasses and their plates. Dean merely gave Sam an open leer, ignoring Humphries’ hint. 

Once the servants left them, Dean raised his glass. “May your treasure hunts always bring you treasure and laughter,” he said.

“And may you find joy and happiness in the simple things of life,” Sam answered with a smile, touching his glass to Dean’s. The fine crystal glasses practically chimed like bells. Sam took a long slow sip of the red wine. “Your wine never seems to disappoint, or else, you spoil me with only the finest.”

Dean drank, then sat his glass down. “We must share the same taste in wine. That is at least one thing we have in common.” Setting down his glass, he caught Sam’s hand, drew it close and kissed the inside of his wrist. He wasn’t sure why he’d felt compelled to do that, but he refused to be embarrassed by the gesture. Giving Sam a nod, he started to eat. 

It was such a simple gesture, a simple kiss, yet somehow it felt intimate to Sam. He gave Dean an almost shy smile and then began to dig into dinner, surprised by the sudden hunger that rumbled in his belly.

It seemed they were both hungry and concentrating on their food, when the sound of tinkling laughter drifted up to them. They could see the carolers through the row of balusters, but Dean had the sense that Sam would like to get closer. “Shall we take our plates and glasses over to the balustrade?” he asked, his voice low, as if they were about to do the forbidden.

“That sounds like a capital idea,” Sam said. After getting to his feet he carried his plate and glass over. Shouting out, he called to the approaching carolers. “We’re up here! Sing for us! Something fun!” he added, lifting his wine in toast to them.

Dean discretely called out to Humphries, who was outside the bedchamber. The butler motioned to the _chaperone_ , who walked through the bed chamber room and took up a position on the other end of the balcony, where she could be seen by those below, and yet was far enough not to disturb the couple.

Joining Sam, Dean set his plate on the top of the balustrade, then reached around Sam to tighten his robe around him and re-tied his belt. When he looked down at the carolers, he gave a wave.

The group started to sing, giving a very lively and uplifting rendition of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. In between forkfuls of food, Dean eventually found himself humming along with their singing.

Sam clapped and gave a call of “Huzzah!” when the carolers finished the song. “More! That was wonderful!” he said and bent over, resting his elbows on the top of the balustrade, ignoring his food for the moment and giving all his attention to the carolers, occasionally joining them in the refrains of the next few songs. 

Laughing and clapping, Dean nodded at the basket next to Sam. “I think they’re ready for their coin now. I can see the lanterns from another group about to arrive.”

Sam picked up the bucket. “The lady might enjoy tossing some coin to the group,” Sam said and carried the bucket down to his ‘chaperone.’ He gave a small bow to her. “Would you care to do the honors this time, my lady?”

Her delicate gloved hand dug into the pennies and she tossed them, then waved a white kerchief at the carolers and gave a smile to Sam. He gave her a bow and wink, then returned to Dean’s side. “She’s quite lovely. How is it she is still unwed? I thought it rude to ask her when Humphries introduced us briefly yesterday.”

“You really expect me to know?” Dean asked, arching a brow. He’d been quite surprised at being abandoned by Sam for the chaperone he paid to be essentially invisible.

“I thought perhaps she was distant family,” Sam said with a shrug. “She’s a handsome woman if I was inclined to be interested in such. I simply wouldn’t be surprised if she were related to you. Though she does lack your adorable freckles,” Sam said, his eyes twinkling.

Dean gave a loud groan. “Why are you so obsessed with freckles, which I have none of? And the word adorable has _never_ been linked to me or to anything about me. Sam, I think I know what I’m getting you for Christmas. Spectacles!” he declared, “or a monocle. Yes, I’ll bet there’s one in one of the chests in the attic.” 

“My vision is quite good. You do have freckles. And you are adorable when you deny them. You are the one in need of spectacles,” Sam said, chuckling at Dean’s annoyance. He turned back to his plate and ate a bit while waiting for the next carolers to settle in and start singing. “How often will they come to carol?” 

“Every Friday until Christmas, but it’s tradition for someone to be here listening on at least the first Friday. It’s seems they have quite an audience tonight.” As the carolers started to sing again, Dean put his arm around Sam’s waist. The carolers wouldn’t see, all any of them might notice was that they stood quite close. “Are you warm enough?” he asked, knowing they could move closer to the fire.

“For the moment,” Sam said, giving Dean a look that implied Dean’s presence was helping to keep him warm. He ate more from his plate, then finally set it aside, occasionally cheering the carolers in between songs. “You toss the pennies this time,” Sam said, nodding toward the bucket, and taking a sip of wine. “And do tell me what is for dessert. Have I mentioned I rather like rice pudding?”

“I’ll mention that to Humphries. I believe it’s bread pudding tonight.” Dean closed his hand around a handful of coins, then showered them on the carolers, shouting a few words of praise.

“Thank you, your grace, thankee…” 

He gave a nod. “I suppose I should tell them the credit goes to you.”

“I’m just reminding you what Christmas-time is about,” Sam said, bumping his hip into Dean’s. “Oh, bread pudding, I like bread pudding as much, if not better, than rice pudding,” Sam said, grinning. “I’m going to leave here pounds heavier because of all the desserts,” he said, smacking his lips. Whenever he had pudding, it made him think of his mother, for that was her favorite dessert as well.

“Not if you keep getting up before dawn, offering your services to the kitchen and stable staff, and go about digging holes in the ground for hours at a time,” Dean snorted, running his hand up and down Sam’s side. 

He found himself studying Sam’s face, then his sensuous lips. Before he acted upon his thoughts, a gentle cough from the chaperone brought him back to his senses. Though it didn’t stop an oath from escaping his lips.

“I am an early riser. I have always been an early riser. When was the last time you watched the sunrise?” Sam said, shuffling a step away from Dean, but taking Dean’s hand in his own. “If you behave, you might get another reward kiss,” Sam said quietly. “Once the carolers are done. I don’t imagine they’ll be more than another few groups? Your estate is so much larger than--than ones I am more familiar with.” Hastily he added. “I am enjoying the carolers very very much, and don’t wish it to be cut short if there are more than a few groups left.”

Dean squeezed his hand. “I knew you’d like this. I don’t know how many more groups, but I have a feeling that once word gets out that they have an audience here, and the that we are generous with the coins, they will keep coming.” 

Releasing Sam’s hand, he poured more wine for both of them. “Damnation. Now you have me thinking about that kiss.” 

“I promise you, the longer the wait, the better the kiss,” Sam said, amused. “The next group, I think my chaperone should toss a few coins again. It’s poor manners for a young man to ignore his supposed chaperone, so they should see me at her side at least briefly upon occasion.”

“Why don’t you offer her some wine, for a job well done,” Dean said. If she hadn’t given that cough, he was certain he would have kissed Sam.

“You’re simply delighted you’re getting another reward kiss from me,” Sam said sagely, nodding his head knowingly. “Sneaky, that.” He took the wine from Dean and poured a fresh glass for the lady. He carried it to her, along with a handful of pennies for her to toss.

“The Duke thanks you for your sharp attention, m’lady.” Sam gave a bow, set the goblet and pennies down before her. They exchanged a few more words before Sam returned to Dean’s side and put his arm around Dean’s waist. “Perhaps we can warm up by the fire until they get close enough to start singing,” Sam said. The chill night air was beginning to cut through the robe.

“Of course.” As they walked towards the table, Dean put his arm around Sam, rubbing Sam’s arm to warm him up a little. “Should I have a coat brought out?” he asked. 

Sam shook his head. “I’m simply enjoying being able to be warm. I’ve had less suitable clothes for winter and colder nights in the all too recent past. I’m not really cold, but I can feel the heat rolling off the fires and I like being able to walk a few steps to get toasty warm. Does that make me spoiled?” he asked ruefully, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re the least spoiled person I know.” Dean leaned in and kissed Sam’s temple. “And I, for one, am glad that you’ll never be cold again.” He would go through his books to find out what dealings he might have had with Sam or his family. And he’d easily find out his surname by inquiring with the auctioneers. Of course, unless Sam planned to never set foot in society again, he would give his real name when he was introduced to others at the Christmas balls and parties he was intent on going to. The chaperone’s presence would protect his reputation, if he did use his true name, as most of the auctionees did. 

“I have a much greater appreciation of firewood for wintertime,” Sam said holding his hands to the fire to warm them. “I have read that if you travel to the equator, it has no winter. Can you imagine? Warm every day? But I also hear the mosquitos are maddening. Besides, what a crime to never experience ice skating!”

“You really do like skating.” Dean gave a nod. “We’ll go to Edwards Christmas party. That usually means three days, and in our case, a bit of room hopping,” he said, pointedly, seeing as they’d have to be given separate rooms for propriety’s sake. “But I’m sure there will be skating and sledding and oh God, games,” he said, stricken with horror.

Sam began laughing. “What is wrong with games? What sort of games?”

Dean raised his hands up. “Nothing, absolutely nothing. And why do you have to know about everything in advance. Ah… saved by the bread pudding.” 

Humphries instructed the servant, and then looked between Dean and Sam. Under his breath, he asked, “Is that a smile, I see?”

“Did you say something, Humphries,” Dean asked.

“No, nothing, your Grace. Enjoy the dessert,” the butler said, retreating with the servant.

Sam chuckled. “Yes, I must know everything in advance. And you most certainly must be a grumpy young man to smile so little that your most trusted of servants is shocked by a smile from you.” Sam dug into the pudding, lifted the spoon, and as soon as Dean opened his mouth to answer, filled his mouth with the pudding.


	5. Chapter 5

Dessert had been cleared away, and the chaperone had left them. Dean and Sam were back in the bedchamber, sitting on the thick rug in front of the fireplace and having a final glass of wine. 

“I don’t believe Humphries has seen me on the floor before. Did you see his face, he looked like he’d swallowed a bug,” Dean chuckled, knocking his slippered foot against Sam’s.

“You do seem to be bringing that man surprise after surprise. And no talk of swallowing bugs.” Sam made a face. “I learned many valuable lessons during harvest. One is to keep your mouth shut when harvesting certain grains. I’d swung my scythe to cut down some plants and whoosh there were more bugs in the air than stars in the sky on a moonless night. I think I coughed out bug parts for three days.” 

Dean made a face very similar to Sam’s. “Right, that must have been-- distasteful. With your education, surely you could have secured a position as a tutor or teacher. Unless you wanted to pursue outdoor adventures,” he guessed, having learned that Sam enjoyed labor more than any man of their class that he knew.

“Yes, well, I did try that, but remember I told you that I have problems with authority? It was a combination of that and I never should have stayed near where I’d grown up. Too many took pleasure in my situation, or made rude comments regarding my family,” he said, waving his hand. “Mind you, my family was never really rich like so many, and my mother was the daughter of a hunter of game, so had no nobility in her lineage.” Sam took a drink of the wine. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s why I was turned away by relatives, and why others took delight in seeing me penniless. Maybe… maybe I just hate smug assholes who flutter about thinking they know everything when they don’t give any effort to keeping up with new discoveries and then claim I am teaching their children nonsense. It is sometimes easier to be a poor witless peasant it seems. If you don’t mind the hunger, the fleas, the cold, the hard labor…” Sam chuckled and shook his head. “It seems I don’t fit well anywhere. But you are right, I do enjoy outdoor adventures. However, outdoor adventures are much more enjoyable when you’ve a hot bath to come home to, and a ready made meal that isn’t little more than gruel and a bit of fat for flavor.”

“I doubt anyone could ever describe you as ‘witless,’” Dean said, pointing a finger at Sam, then taking a drink. He might have added that he was sorry Sam found himself in dire straits, but was smart enough to avoid digging too deeply into the topic. “And forgive me, but your relatives sound like heartless asses, and I, for one, am glad you won’t have to turn to them ever again.” 

Getting too warm because of his closeness to the fire, Dean loosened his robe. 

“Heartless asses are in abundance no matter their rank and file, though I have honestly found more generosity among the poor than ever among the rich.” Sam fell silent, thinking about some of the kindness he’d been shown over the past months. Reluctantly, he had to admit he too had never been as generous as some he had encountered in his hard times. However, he also knew that his family had never been as rich as they might have been because, in an effort to raise the standard of living, they charged those who lived and farmed on their lands far less than others in their position. Having now been poor, he understood how much even that small boon could help. 

Finishing the last of his wine, Sam laid back on the furs. He stared up at the ceiling. “You really ought to have some more decoration on your ceilings. They’re rather bland and uninteresting.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s because this bedchamber reflects my character. Masculine and non-frilly. However, your bedchamber’s decor might be more to your taste.” He nodded to the door leading to the adjoining room. 

Sam made a rude sound. “Your decor is clunky and boorish.” He slid his gaze over to meet Dean’s. “Are you saying you too are clunky and boorish?” In truth the room’s decor was elegant if a bit simple, but Sam couldn’t resist the teasing.

“Am I?” Dean raised an elegant brow. “Well perhaps. I’ll ask for your verdict on that in thirty days, and I’m quite sure you’ll have a lot to say on the subject.” In truth, he didn’t want time to pass too quickly, and yet, he was eager to get the first few days over with and move on to a time he hoped Sam would be completely at ease with him. 

“I expected a much wittier riposte,” Sam said clicking his tongue, and pushing himself back up to rest on one elbow. “Lay all the way down. I’ve a kiss I owe you. Unless you’d rather save it for tomorrow?”

“Now, you know I prefer to have my dessert first, and waiting is not one of my virtues.” Dean didn’t lay back, but he crooked a finger at Sam.

Sam wagged a finger at him. “Ah-ah-ah. My reward kisses are special. Lay down on you back and let me give you the kiss I want to give you. You don’t want to lose this reward kiss for being stubborn, do you?”

“I think you have it backwards. You’re the stubborn one.” Setting his drink down, Dean slowly lowered himself all the way down into the soft fur, keeping his eyes fixed on Sam. “My lips seem to be growing cold.” He licked them, already anticipating Sam’s mouth on his. 

“Cold lips? We can’t have that,” Sam tsked. “This is an extra special ‘round the world’ reward kiss. So close your eyes. Go on. Close them. And no pulling me down on top of you until the end.”

“And some people think I demand control,” Dean grumped, closing his eyes just the same. All it had taken was the promise that he could eventually pull Sam down on top of him, and probably have his way for at least a while. 

Sam chuckled. As soon as Dean closed his eyes, he resituated himself to the right of Dean, and feathered a few kisses along the corner of Dean’s mouth, brushing and teasing Dean’s lips with his own. He coaxed Dean’s tongue out to do battle outside their mouths, then he pulled away and shifted so he could drop kisses along Dean’s cheek, working his way around so he was at Dean’s head. Leaning in, he kissed Dean’s forehead, then his brow, down along his nose, until he finally slanted his lips across Dean’s. His upside down kiss grew heated and intense. His tongue stroked Dean’s, curling around it, dancing with it. When he broke for air, he moved lower and and Sam sucked Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth.

Once he’d gotten Dean worked up a bit, he shifted again, this time to Dean’s left. Dropping kissing along his other cheek, Sam moved down, dropping light kisses along Dean’s jaw line, then at the corners of Dean’s lips, dancing back and forth.

Finally he he began kissing Dean in earnest as he lowered his body on top of Dean’s. He broke for a breath and whispered. “And that is my ‘round the world’ special kiss, and here is the final reward.” Sam pressed his lips firmly against Dean’s, pouring passion and heat into the kiss, opening his mouth more. Teasing Dean’s tongue into his own mouth, he relinquished control to Dean.

Dean had already closed his arms around Sam, one hand moving up and down his back, the other moving over the contours of his tight ass. The material of Sam’s robe bunched under Dean’s hands, making him wish the garment to perdition.

Groaning, Dean rolled them over, breaking the kiss and looking down into Sam’s face. “For the record, you may globe trot all you like over me, any time,” he said, his breaths coming quickly. “That was worth the wait,” he admitted, his mouth still burning from the sensation of being kissed from all angles. 

“I’m glad you think so. I don’t give reward kisses to just anyone, you know,” Sam said, just a little smug at the way Dean was panting.

“Well I’ll do my best to earn more,” Dean said, his gaze dropping to Sam’s lips. He briefly touched his mouth to Sam’s, then reached for the belt of Sam’s robe. “May I?” he asked, undoing it with his eyes locked with Sam’s.

When Dean had the robe open, he swept his hand over Sam’s stomach, over his nightshirt, and captured Sam’s mouth with his. He kissed him slowly, thoroughly, masterfully, as he explored his body. 

Sam was pleased Dean asked before tugging his robe open. Dean’s hands were warm, and Sam couldn’t deny he liked the way his hands felt so gentle roaming over him. Tentatively, he began to do likewise, exploring Dean’s muscular frame, returning the kiss with equal thoroughness.

A wave of desire swept over Dean. Groaning, he slid his hand under Sam’s nightshirt, smoothing his palm over Sam’s heated skin. There was nothing soft about this man. His body was as finely chiseled as any Greek statue, but he was flesh and blood, and he felt so good under Dean. 

Shifting, Dean pushed his knee between Sam’s legs, lifting his head to look down at him. He very deliberately pressed the swell of his arousal against Sam’s, and brought his mouth down again, this time kissing him the way he wanted him, hard, deep and completely.

Sam couldn’t stop the soft groan that started in the back of his throat. Dean’s arousal felt rock hard, and his own was growing as heat pooled in his belly and the blood rushed from his head. His body was betraying him, but he reluctantly admitted to himself that Dean seemed like a gentle and caring soul. The Duke… that was another matter, but this wasn’t the Duke kissing him. This was Dean. So he let Dean continue. 

Sensing Sam’s capitulation, Dean reared his head and tugged his robe off his shoulders, tossing it to the side. He could move more freely now. Looking down at Sam, seeing his flushed face and his eyes soft with desire, Dean felt his breath hitch. “You’re…” he let out a breath. “Beautiful,” he whispered, as if the thought had occurred to him for the first time. 

Reaching down, he moved his palm over Sam’s abs and chest, slowly bringing it up to his shoulder and neck. His thumb grazed Sam’s lips. “No, really,” he whispered thickly, before slanting his mouth over Sam’s and tangling their tongues together, in yet another dance.

This was different from the way Sam had mentally pictured how this would go. He expected more orders, more demands, but while Dean was somewhat aggressive, he was also respectful and flattering, and it was all very strange and dizzying. Or maybe it was the fact he was forgetting to breathe while Dean kissed him.

Sam broke off the kiss and took a deep breath. “You--you are very good at kissing. You are trying to steal my breath, for I seem to be forgetting to take a fresh one in,” he said, running a hand over Dean’s shoulder and down his arm. 

“I’m returning the favor. Perhaps a little more directly than traveling around the world,” Dean answered, his breaths no less labored than Sam’s. Dean closed his eyes for a moment as Sam’s hand moved over him, making him want to remove his nightshirt. 

Taking a breath, he looked down at Sam again. This time, he took hold of the bottom edges of Sam’s nightshirt, and slowly pushed it up his body, revealing his sun bronzed skin. Licking his lips, he lowered his head and kissed his way across Sam’s abs, and moved higher, as he inched the material of the nightshirt up. 

Dean’s warm breath washed over his stomach, making Sam’s muscles flutter unexpectedly. The touch of his wet lips, the occasional caress of Dean’s tongue on his skin, brought out a barely uttered moan. It felt good, better than he’d expected. He moved his hand to the back of Dean’s head, running his fingers through Dean’s silken hair. A part of him wanted to beg the man to stop. He wasn’t ready for this, not with the man who cost him everything. Another part of him wanted to simply forget everything, to become lost in the man who was kissing him. He honestly didn’t know which he wanted more at the moment and his teeth caught his lower lip, biting into it as the feelings warred inside of him. 

The soft sound of a groan urged Dean on, and the fact that Sam had tried to hold it back, had him redoubling his efforts. He moved his hands over Sam’s skin, following their trail with his mouth and tongue, and eventually finding his way to Sam’s nipple. He licked around it, the blew on it, giving a slight smile of satisfaction when it pebbled. He dipped his head down again, silently vowing he would show no mercy until he had Sam quivering and begging for more. 

“Uhn…” Sam groaned as he arched up against Dean’s mouth. “Evil,” he whispered, but there was no venom in his words. In arching up, his now hard cock rubbed against Dean’s stomach and he squirmed at the sudden pressure, another small gasp leaving him. “Twice over,” he groaned as he ran his fingers up and down Dean’s muscular back, the occasional small ridge of scar tissue reminding him the man had not had been shown the kindest side of childhood.

“No. Just determined,” Dean answered truthfully. He’d noticed that Sam’s fingertips lingered over scars that could be felt right through the thin silk of his night shirt. He paused, expecting a question. When there was none, he locked gazes with Sam and posed one of his own. “Let me take you to bed.”

Sam swallowed hard, meeting the man’s moss-green eyes. After a moment, he gave a small nod, but didn’t trust himself to speak. He wasn’t sure what might come out, and regardless of what words he might find leaving him, he knew his voice would be rough with emotion. And it was foolish. It wasn’t as if he was a virgin, and this...this was why he was here. To be the Duke’s Warm and Willing. He had promised he would do that, be that, for him. He’d signed his name to the contract and he would not shirk or recant on his promise or word. He just wasn’t sure about all the tangled up things he was feeling inside, but he suspected Dean was skilled enough that, for once, even his non-stop thinking would be lost to the pleasures of the flesh.

Dean saw the flash of indecision in Sam’s eyes. He knew, beyond a doubt, he knew he’d given Sam pleasure. It was in his nature to be irked, or impatient. His nostrils flared slightly, but something tempered his response. Perhaps it was the fact that Sam had helped him capture something he’d never had. The type of fun or enjoyment a child might have in something simple - a treasure hunt, or in imperfect singing by merry carolers. Perhaps he needed to give something back.

“I’ll let you keep your garments on.” He pulled Sam up, and added silkily, “some of them,” as he stripped him of his robe. 

Sam moved to make the removal of his robe easier, then pulled off his own nightshirt and tossed it onto the chair on top of his robe. He turned back to Dean and without asking permission, took hold of the hem of Dean’s nightshirt and pulled it up and off. Staring at Dean’s chest, he gently ran his fingers over his muscles, tracing wavy patterns into his skin. Meeting Dean’s gaze, he closed the distance between them and licked his lips. “So take me to bed.”

“Careful. You’re setting fires that I may not be able to control,” Dean warned, closing his arms around Sam with no hesitation, and kissing him as he walked him backwards toward the bed. His hands roved over Sam, Sam’s words repeating in his head, making his mind hazy with need. He wanted Sam, he’d wanted him from the first. But now…

When the reached the bed, he shoved Sam, smiling when Sam fell back on the bed. He cocked his head to the right, then to the left, before climbing on the bed and crawling toward Sam. 

“And you said I get to keep some garments on,” Sam said, looking at Dean as Dean crawled up his body. “Are you promising to be my blanket for the night,” he asked, then gave a groan as Dean’s body brushed over his erection. “I repeat, you are evil,” he said. “Don’t just lay there. Kiss me, dammit. My lips are getting cold.”

“Lips cold? We can’t have that,” Dean rasped, lowering slightly to drag his body against Sam’s but lifting back up as he traced the contours of Sam’s lips with the tip of his tongue, before seeking entrance. Twisting his tongue around Sam’s, he forced him to give chase, kissing him until he was out of breath, and sucking his lower lip into his mouth briefly before breaking the kiss.

“My turn to be evil,” Sam said, his voice rough. Wrapping his arms around Dean he rolled them over so he was on top, looking down at Dean. “My turn for this.” Sliding down Dean’s body, he gave back to Dean the kisses that had tangled him up inside and made his stomach flutter. His lips brushed over Dean’s abs and slowly worked their way up to Dean’s left nipple. Instead of licking it, or blowing across it to watch it pebble, he latched on, rolling his tongue around it, sucking on it, toying with it mercilessly.

Every touch of Sam’s hand and mouth sent heat skittering across Dean’s sensitized skin. As Sam wound him up tighter and tighter, Dean’s muscles tensed to the breaking point. He curled his fingers tightly around the bed sheets to prevent himself from wresting control back. “Truly evi-” he started to say, when Sam’s wet hot mouth closed over his nipple. A bolt of heat lanced through him and had him arching off the mattress, “Sam!” 

Taking a few deep breaths, Dean tried to lay back down, but he could no longer keep his hands to himself. He ran his hand down and up Sam’s back, then tangled his fingers in his silky hair. Unable to help himself, he raised his hips and gave a pained groan when his rock hard cock brushed against Sam’s. 

When Sam felt their arousals collide, he released Dean’s tight nub of a nipple, and gave a soft moan. He met the Duke’s eyes. “I’m sure Humphries had to have heard you shout my name. Sam, one, Dean, none.” He smirked, glancing down at his handiwork. “Shall I balance you so your nipples match?” he asked.

“Humphries is paid to be deaf.” Dean moved his hand down to cup Sam’s neck. “Kiss me,” he demanded, dragging Sam down over him.

Sam let Dean pull him down and he kissed Dean, initially refusing to give quarter to Dean. He kept control and focused on kissing Dean until Dean gave a low, need-filled groan. He tweaked the unaccosted nipple so it, too, hardened, and pressed down with his body over Dean’s arousal, not letting Dean move or rock beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, he saw the fire burning in Dean’s eyes. “Has my kissing reached ‘amazing’ yet?” Sam asked, referring back to the auction when he’d promised bidders that he would be amazing for whoever won him.

Dean’s eye brow lifted. “Yes… it… ah,” he stalled, until the haze of lust cleared a little and he recalled Sam’s boasts at the auction. “Amazing,” he cupped Sam’s ass with both hands, molding him closer. “That might be an understatement. I think I just might have discovered the Eighth Wonder of the World,” he said, lifting his hips and grinding, then tilting his head back and grinning. “I think I did… find it.”

Sam’s own eyebrows lifted. “I have never been called, nor has any part of my body been called, that. See what happens when you go treasure hunting? You never know what you might find. But I think I’ll just stick with amazing. Wondrous sounds a bit egotistical on my part, don’t you think?” he said, his breath hitching as Dean ground against him.

“I think that’s a trick question, and I refuse to answer.” Dean kissed Sam’s shoulder and made his way to his neck. His need for friction mounted, but he managed to keep himself from reversing their positions again. Instead, he locked his legs around Sam’s waist and rocked very deliberately up against him. “I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve climbed a tree or two in my youth.” His voice was strained. He urgently needed more. 

He tried to kiss Sam, then drew back. “Bring me to completion.” A muscle throbbed in his jaw, “or I will.”

“Tree. Now that I have been called before. Untangle your legs and I’ll give you what you need.” When Dean slowly unlocked his legs, Sam repositioned himself, slipping his leg in between Dean’s. He slowly pressed down, rubbing his own erection into Dean’s hip, then he lowered himself fully, pressing his lips to his lover’s and began to rock, his tongue pulsing in and out of Dean’s mouth to the same rhythm he was thrusting to.

Though he’d been reluctant to release Sam, to give up that small measure of control, once Sam lowered over him, all other thoughts left Dean’s mind. All he knew was that he was painfully hard, Hard for this man who seemed to like to play games, and to make him wait. And who had a knack for persuading him to do just that. And now, Sam was giving him what he needed, rocking against him, giving him the pressure he needed. The sensation of Sam’s equally hard cock rubbing against his hip pushed Dean closer to the edge. His hands moved over Sam, molding him close, his hips answering Sam, thrust for thrust, and his kisses growing more heated. A moan broke from him as he started to climb, to reach for release, and he could hardly believe how sharp his need was when they were still half clothed.

Sam let his thoughts disappear into the lusty kisses given and received, into the warm touches that left trails of fire on his skin, into the fog of desire and need. The pressure inside him was building, he felt droplets of cum dampen his under garments, and still he pressed on, his groans lost amid the echoing groans coming from the man beneath him. His thrusts grew in power as his balls ached with the need to come. “Come for me, Dean,” he whispered between maddening, passionate kisses.

The whispered plea was almost Dean’s undoing. Almost. Though it hurt to hold back, he whispered. “What? I didn’t hear you. Louder.” 

“Come for me,” Sam said, putting all his effort into bringing Dean to completion. “Come for me, Dean! Now!” he begged, nearly too close to be playful or to hold back, waiting for Dean to erupt first.

That was all it took for the dams to burst. Arching up against Sam, Dean pressed his head down into the pillow, tensing. “Sam!,” he shouted as heat exploded low in his belly, rushing through him so fast it took his breath away, choking off his words as he came. His fingers bit into Sam, silently urging him to come with him.

The shout of his name snapped Sam’s control and he no sooner felt warmth spread along his thigh from Dean, than his balls twisted and tightened and spasmed, and he emptied everything he had as he continued to thrust and pump through his orgasm. He wanted to make certain Dean was milked dry. He took his breaths in short gasps, sprinkling kisses along Dean’s jaw, and occasionally managing to lock lips with his lover.

“Mmmh,” Dean made a sound of complete satisfaction, though it was muffled against Sam’s mouth. He moved more languidly against Sam, trying to make the pleasure last a little longer, and kissing him back. He ran his hand through Sam’s hair, pushing it away from his forehead as they kissed, and then slowly rolling to his side with Sam still in his arms. “That was… you were, amazing,” he said, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. 

“Amazing, Mmhuh. Wondrous. Sam two, Dean, zero. I guess I need to hit eight to properly earn my title.” Sam found himself on his side, his head on a pillow, a bit surprised Dean didn’t roll him all the way over, but quite content with the current arrangement. His eyelids began to droop closed 

“Hold on there, your count is off. Definitely off. I distinctly heard you shout my name.” When Sam didn’t answer, Dean added, “I suppose I could shout for Humphries to clear this up…”

Sam cracked his eyes open. “He’s deaf, remember? Besides, I was telling you to get off your lazy butt and come. I wasn’t shouting your name in surprised pleasure, like you did with my name. Twice.” Sam’s lips curved into a smile. “So I’m still ahead.”

“Bastard,” Dean muttered, nuzzling Sam’s neck. “Alright. I’ll concede. However, you’re not coming again, I mean with me, until I’ve caught up.” Brushing his mouth against Sam’s, he closed his own eyes, and proceeded to mentally plot his strategy.

“If you think I’m coming with Humphries, just get that idea right out of your head. And you aren’t allowed to cheat.” Sam let his eyes slide shut. “And no good morning surprises from you. That falls under ravishing I think…” Sam’s words trailed off as sleep overtook him.

“That’s hardly likely, since you wake before the cock crows,” Dean shot back, allowing sleep to take him soon after.

 

* * *

Dean quietly walked into the music room and listened to Sam playing the piano. He’d been called away on business for a few days, but had returned as soon as he could, only to find several Christmas trees gracing the manor!

Just as Sam finished his piece, Dean drew off his riding gloves. “I trust you were not bored while I was away,” he said, smiling when Sam gave a start and turned his head. 

“Dean! Welcome home! Humphries saw to it my days were kept busy with decorating and I made your chefs teach me a few dessert recipes, though by unanimous decision, I have been banned from cooking or baking. Some of the neighboring gentry have visited and Miss Delanor, my chaperone, has played her part well and graciously. Did you accomplish everything that had to be done?” Sam asked, rising to his feet and walking over to Dean. He gave him a light kiss on the lips.

“Mission accomplished, yes. Don’t tell me you burned down the kitchen.” Dean didn’t allow Sam to pull away, instead slanting his mouth over Sam’s, he kissed him soundly, before releasing him.

Sam returned Dean’s kiss, taking an extra moment to rub his lips back and forth across Dean’s. “Cold lips. Cold everything. Come, sit by the fire and warm up. As for burning down your kitchen, no, but I burnt some cookies, and started a small fire. I had no idea flour was so flammable. I nearly burned my eyebrows off.” 

“That would not have been a good look,” Dean chuckled, walking with Sam and taking a seat near the fire. “I had hoped to be back sooner,” he said. Not waiting for the butler, he picked up the decanter and poured two drinks. “I see you’ve done a bit of decorating. Tell me, is there any mistletoe about?” he raised a brow.

“Of course. In all the proper places. Including above your bed. And what do you mean a bit of decorating? We raided every last box in the attic to confirm we found every usable item. Humphries asked about a Christmas play, but I told him I thought we would be going to Edward’s for his Christmas party. We did get the costumes out and had them mended and aired, in the event we are to stay here. Then we can put on a play instead.” Sam realized he was practically gushing with news and comments. He had, he admitted only to himself, rather sort of missed the Duke.

Dean found himself enjoying listening to Sam and getting swept up by his enthusiasm. “The tree in here is lovely, and you’ve done a fine job with the mantle. I haven’t toured yet, but I caught a glimpse of the bannisters. Well done.” He clinked his glass against Sam’s and took a long drink. “It’s snowing just north of here, so you have nothing to fear. There will be ice skating and sledding and every other imaginable winter activity at Edward’s.”

Straightening his legs, Dean e crossed them at his ankles. He studied Sam’s face. “It’s nice. To have someone to come home to,” he said, before he realized he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. Dragging his gaze away, he looked into the fire. 

Sam didn’t know what to say to that. This was just a stopping off point for him, a platform to launch himself from. A job that would allow him to have money enough to live on if he didn’t squander it all away, and he had no intentions of doing that. He reached across and took Dean’s hand. “I’m glad you find my company nice enough that you’ve missed it. And I’m glad you like the decorations. Once you’ve rested and warmed yourself a bit, I’ll take you on the grand tour.”

Dean looked down at his hand enveloped in Sam’s, and gave a nod. “I look forward to it. And I haven’t forgotten your surprise. I’ll show you in a few hours.” He gave Sam a look, knowing Sam’s curious nature would give him no peace until the surprise was revealed. Squeezing Sam’s hand, he released it just as Humphries brought in a large tray of tea and sandwiches.

“Hah. You tease me with the promise of a surprise, then disappear for days. No reward kiss for you this eve,” Sam said. “And Humphries is no better, acting as if he has no clue as to what the surprise might be. I even tried to bribe him with promises to stay out of the kitchen,” Sam said and gave a wink to Humphries as the butler straightened from setting down the tray. “Only sandwiches? No dessert? Not even cookies?” he said, sounding disappointed.

“This is just a snack, Master Samuel. But if you would like biscuits or pudding, I will have some brought to you,” Humphries said, doing his best to ignore the wink and to keep a straight face.

“What say you, Dean? Is the traveller in need of dessert to accompany these sandwiches?” Sam asked as Humphries poured the tea.

“I think that’s a capital idea. Humphries?”

“Yes, your Lordship?”

“If the dessert is in petite portions, make sure to bring a lot. Colossos eats for two,” he said, giving the butler a look.

Humphries’ gaze slid to Sam, then back to the Duke. Giving a bow, he walked out of the room.

Sam broke into laughter. “He gives some of the best looks of exasperation. Did you accomplish everything you needed to on your trip? Everything ship-shape, or whatever? Is it rude to ask where you went since I know it was some sort of Dukely business.”

“There was a fire at one of my holdings. There were minor injuries, and it was put out, but the fire might not have been accidental.” Dean stuffed a finger sandwich into his mouth and chewed a little. “And there are irregularities in the books. I’ve got some suspicions about the estate’s man of business. I’ve had them for some time, but the man is dragging his feet about passing over all of the Wesson estate accounts. Let’s not talk about things that will bore you,” he said, taking another bite.

Sam nearly dropped his cup of tea when Dean said it was at the Wesson estate… his estate. “What--” Sam had to clear his throat and hastily took a drink of the too-hot tea, burning his mouth. He cursed under his breath. “What… what caught fire? Who was hurt?” Sam struggled to keep his voice level and to hide the emotional turmoil inside him.

“Oddly enough, it was the library, where some of the accounting ledgers would have been.” Dean’s tone implied there was nothing just odd about it, and that he believed the reason for the fire was those very documents. “However, the servants stopped the fire’s spread. The winds were fierce, and the flames did reach the second floor. Part of the living quarters are gutted.” 

He noticed Sam wasn’t eating. “These aren’t all for me, you know? Have one.” 

Sam forced a smile and took one, taking a large bite out of it. It tasted like ash and after he swallowed, was like lead in his stomach. “Always a shame when a library suffers damage. Books should be treasured and prized. Was anyone hurt in the living quarters?” Sam finished off the sandwich and took another. Anything to keep his hands busy, to try to allow himself to focus on keeping himself under control. He wanted nothing more than to rush to his former estates and check the damage and check on those who were injured.

“A few servants, but the injuries were minor and have been taken care of. Odd thing,” he frowned. “There were Christmas decorations, but no one lives there at present, other than retainers and servants.” 

Dean reached for yet another sandwich, just as dessert was brought in on a tray. “If you’re more interested in the sweets, start without me.”

Sam couldn’t help but imagine his estate decorated. Everyone there knew how his family loved Christmas. He wasn’t surprised that the servants decorated it, perhaps hoping somehow he would win the estate back. He wished it were possible. He glanced at Dean. “What? I’m sorry, my mind wandered.” 

“Dessert. It’s here,” Dean said, searching Sam’s face. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course. I was just trying to decide if it was sad that the decorations were there with no one to enjoy them, or hopeful that someone would return who could enjoy them. Silly ramblings of my overactive mind,” Sam said. “Pay me no mind.” He dumped some of his whiskey into his tea, then picked up another sandwich. He forced his mind to move on from his worry. He’d kept his identity secret from the Duke thus far. It would be more than a pity to make a blunder now. “I do hope you like trifle. It’s an old family recipe I gave the cooks. It’s quite delicious. We’ll have it tomorrow night with dinner. I think this dessert was one of the experiments.”

“You managed to talk the chef into a new recipe?” Dean was a little astounded. “I haven’t had trifle in quite a while, and I can’t think of anything that might be sweeter than having your trifle.” He smirked, and ran his hand down Sam’s arm, lingering on his bicep.

“I might have had to beg and threaten to make it myself if he didn’t make it for me,” Sam said, grinning to show his dimples, his eyes dropping to his biceps then meeting Dean’s gaze. “It’s amazing what a few burnt cookies can gain you in the way of allies in the kitchen. Or flat out fear of my cooking attempts. He told me that water couldn’t be burnt but he suspected if I tried hard enough, I could achieve that feat.” Sam shrugged and picked up a spoon, digging into the dessert for a small taste. “Mmm. Definitely not bad. Yes, this was one of the experiments.”

Laughing hard as he imagined the events unfolding in the kitchen, Dean shook his head. “I’ll have to watch you closely. You’re very good at getting your way, aren’t you?” Dropping the remainder of his sandwich, he reached for dessert. Bringing a spoonful to his mouth, he gave a low sound of content, practically making love to the spoon.

“Usually, exceptionally good,” Sam said, wishing it had been true when he’d tried to convince the Duke to give him more time to pay off his estate’s debt. Maybe he should have tried to do so in person. “Careful with that spoon. I hear it and the dish have a thing going on and they’re going to run away together, you know when the cow jumps over the moon. The dish might be the jealous type.”

“What? Huh?” Giving Sam a quizzical look, Dean took another spoonful. “It’s delicious,” he said, speaking around the mouthful. “I regret not starting with dessert first.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Hey diddle, the cat and the fiddle… Don’t you know your nursery rhymes?” Getting a blank look from Dean, Sam recited it for him. “Hey diddle diddle, the cat and fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, and the dish ran away with the spoon.”

“Right, you’ll make a fine papa someday. Wait,” Dean frowned, “are you implying I’m having an affair with my spoon? It’s not the spoon, Sammy, it’s what’s in it, and now… in my mouth,” he said pointedly, taking another spoonful of the pudding.

“You appreciate that pudding more than my wit. Perhaps I will run away with the spoon. I do like spooning.” Sam said, clearly mock-pouting. 

“Yes, I remember that very well.” The heat in Dean’s eyes confirmed he spoke the truth. His bed had felt very cold indeed these last few days.

Sam simply chuckled and dug into the dessert before Dean devoured it all by himself. 

* * * 

As promised, after they ate, Sam took Dean on a tour of the manor. Dean made ample use of the mistletoe, insisting on a kiss whenever they passed under a hanging sprig. It became a game of Dean trying to find the mistletoe and Sam steering them around the manner in an effort to thwart Dean by avoiding it. The servants were baffled to hear the two men running around like children on the second floor as Dean tried to catch Sam under clumps of mistletoe.

Sam finally collapsed on a couch in one of the sitting rooms, breathing hard and laughing, but he showed Dean the yule log he was in the process of making and proclaimed that Dean was going to help him finish it.

When Dean tugged Sam back onto his feet with the promise of his surprise, Sam couldn’t deny his excitement at the prospect of finally finding out the nature of the surprise. He followed Dean through a secret door and down stone steps, until they reached a room lit with torches. It was a Roman bath house, including a lovely looking swimming pool.

“Oh my God, this is fantastic!” Sam said, studying the fixtures and mosaics. “Is it real? I mean, was it always here, from Roman times?”

He’d known Sam would love it, and Dean wasn’t the least bit disappointed by his reaction. Laughing, he shook his head ‘no.’ “It’s a good replica, though. I did mention my eccentric ancestors, didn’t I?”

Heat rose from the surface of the water. The reason he’d kept Sam waiting on the surprise was to give the servants time to heat the water up. “I’d ask if you want to bathe with me, but that would be too forward, and it might give you the vapors. So, shall we…” He gestured toward the stairs as if making ready to leave the wondrous sight, but his eyes danced with mischief. 

“I do not get the vapors!” Sam protested. “And you may bathe any place you please. I, however, am going to try out this most wonderful pool. You are free to join me, if you’d like.” Without further hesitation, Sam began stripping off his shirt.

“It’s just--” Dean stopped him from taking off another article of clothing. “You’re sure you won’t faint, or drown? The water is quite hot, you know.” Sensing Sam was dying to get in and would push him away at any moment, Dean hung onto him. “Tell me this merits an ‘around the world’ kiss.”

Sam tilted his head in surprise, staring at the man. The way Dean practically clung to him, the hopeful look in his eyes, it made Sam want to laugh and cry at the same time. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him close. “If that is the kiss you want from me, of course. I will give you such a kiss tonight. Please, for now, join me in the pool,” he said quietly then slanted his mouth over Dean’s and gave him a slow, gentle, loving kiss.

Dragging Sam close, up hard against his body, Dean kissed him back. He really had missed him. The way he made him laugh and kept him amused, and perhaps the way he made him feel, the loneliness that he displaced. The thing of it was, Dean had had lots of companions, and none of them had done this for him. 

When he broke the kiss, Dean skimmed his mouth along Sam’s neck, then pulled away. “Go on, the pool awaits.” He started stripping his own clothes, allowing himself to once again get caught up in Sam’s excitement.

“How long have you been letting this languish here, unused?” Sam asked as he continued to strip off his clothes. “It’s practically a crime to have such a wonderful thing hidden away, left abandoned! And now I know exactly where we’re going to have to display that floor we found on the treasure hunt. It will simply have to be in the same room that the secret door is in. A private little joke. It’ll be perfect there!” Uncharacteristically, he tossed his shirts aside carelessly, then sat down on a bench and tugged his boots to get them off.

“With all your schemes and ideas, it’s a damned good thing I don’t easily get exhausted.” In truth, Dean thought it was a great idea. “You select the location, and I will have masons brought over to do the work,” he promised. Sitting down next to Sam on the bench, Dean undressed more slowly. “You do realize the pool isn’t going anywhere,” he teased. 

“That may be true, but the last one in has to serenade the other,” Sam shot back with a mischievous smile as he tossed a boot aside. “And you have to be undressed. You can’t just jump in with all your clothes on. Doesn’t count.”

“I have a feeling you really like my voice.” Dean started to pull his clothing off faster, and when he saw that Sam was almost down to nothing, he threw his leg across Sam’s lap to pin him down. “You had a head start,” he pointed out, laughing as he struggled to simultaneously get his own clothes off.

“You are such a cheater!” Sam scolded, unable to get leverage to stand-up. Pushing was just as ineffective. His eyes narrowed and he decided it was time to play dirty. He began tickling Dean, hoping the man was ticklish.

Dean shot off the bench, “That’s cheating, dammit!” he shouted, trying but failing to turn quickly enough to stand in Sam’s way. Then he was rooted to the spot when Sam dropped his pants and drawers and stepped out of them. “That also is cheating,” he muttered.

Sam wagged his butt at Dean, then dropped into the pool and pushed off. “You must serenade me with Christmas songs,” he declared, flipping over on his back and doing the back stroke, his cock occasionally breaking the surface of the water.

“You and your Christmas. Keep that up, and I’ll decorate your--” he gave Sam a look. “I think I’d fancy you with a well placed bow.”

“Perhaps if you’re a very good boy, Saint Nicholas will bring you exactly want you want for Christmas morning. Otherwise, I suspect you’ll get coal,” Sam said, reaching the other side of the pool which really wasn’t that far from where Dean still stood. “The longer you stand there lollygagging about, the more songs you’ll have to sing for me.”

“Dukes don’t lollygag. We assess or size up.” Dropping his own pants, Dean placed them on the bench and walked to the end of the pool that had the stairs. Heading down the stairs until he was waist deep in the hot water, he looked at Sam.

“Hah! And I suppose Dukes aren’t ticklish. They’re merely sensitive to the brush of someone’s fingers,” Sam said, as he pushed off from the wall and swam out into the center of the pool.

“Right. Exactly so.” Diving headfirst under the water, Dean emerged behind Sam, tapping him on the shoulder. “Looking for me?” he asked. 

“No. Should I be?” Sam said, twisting around. “I need to ask you another very serious question,” Sam said, his brow furrowing. “You were kidding about a toe fetish, weren’t you?”

“Why don’t you lift your foot up out of the water, and we’ll both find out?” Dean answered, fighting to keep from smiling. He swam slightly back, to where Sam’s feet might reach if he lifted it. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

“No!” Sam cleared his throat. “I mean, no, of course I’m not afraid. But if you get a chance to suck on my toes, be prepared to get kicked in the face. My feet are, ah, sensitive to the brush of someone’s fingers, lips, mouth, tongue…”

“Coward,” Dean taunted, bravely sticking his own foot out of the water near Sam. “It’s alright, we can’t all be brave. I understand completely. I have a serious question for you. What else are you afraid of? The dark? Goblins?”

Sam met his gaze square on. “Dukes with toe fetishes. And lizards.”

“Lizards.” Dean smirked, then put his hand out of the water. “Foot.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t like anyone touching my feet. I’ll kick you, then you’ll get mad and ruin this lovely swim.”

“Alright,” Dean relented, seeing Sam was serious. “You know, I also have a lip fetish.” He swam close. “And a real aversion to cold lips.”

“Sing me a song, then I’ll warm up your lips with my special Swimming Sam kiss,” Sam said, keeping the same distance between them as he swam backwards a bit. “And lip fetishes are fine. I like lip fetishes.” He licked his own lips, teasing Dean.

“So you’re not afraid of Dukes with lip fetishes.” Dean’s gaze followed the tip of Sam’s tongue. “I ah… perhaps a sample kiss would get me warmed up.” He moved closer again, his expression a little predatory.

“No, only feet fetishes of any type,” Sam kept swimming to keep himself just beyond Dean’s reach. “If I give you a sample kiss, you won’t get my special swimming kiss. So which do you want? A plain, simple, sample kiss, or,” and Sam’s voice grew silken as he licked his lips and gave his own predatory look to Dean, “my swimming kiss?”

“I pick the third choice. Both.” Dean swam closer, his heart beats kicking up at the teasing from Sam. “It’s the season to be charitable, and all that.” He licked his own lips, his gaze fixed on Sam’s.

“If you hadn’t indulged me with treasure hunting, and been so generous, you would not receive even a peck on the cheek,” Sam said, with exaggerated patience. “Since you did and were--but only a quick sample kiss. Then you must sing the first song for me.” Sam held his place in the water and let Dean ‘catch’ him.

With one kick of his feet, Dean moved in. His mouth was inches from Sam’s, as they both tread water. “Don’t move,” he whispered thickly, angling his head to one side. He kissed his way along Sam’s upper lip, then carefully kissed his lower lip. Ignoring the tightening in his gut, he never invaded Sam’s mouth, but repeated the kiss.

Dean’s kiss was near maddening, but he did as Dean said and didn’t move beyond what it took to tread water. “The lip fetish kiss,” Sam murmured. “I’ll be sure to remember this.”

“Mmm, yeah…” Dean pulled away, but only a little. “I wish you a naughty Christmas, I wish you a naughty Christmas, I wish you a naughty Christmas, and a very filling New Year!,” he sang out, stroking his arms in the water so that he was well away from Sam when he ended the song he’d modified. 

Sam splashed water at him. “That’s not worth a swimming kiss! I’ve been cheated! And yes, you are definitely getting coal in your stocking this year! Give me a good drinking song at least, or a fun sailing song since we’re in the water.”

“Has anyone ever told that you’re a very difficult man? With your aversion to toes, and lizards, and insistence on serenades, and oh, I’m certain the list will grow.” Dean kicked his way to the other end of the small pool, where he could stand. He reached for the tray that had been set down at the corner, and poured two glasses of wine. “C’mere, and I’ll feed you grapes and sing you bawdy songs to your heart’s content.” Even before Sam made a move, Dean started to sing, holding up some grapes to tempt Sam.

Sam chuckled and swam over to Dean. “Now that is more like it. And yes, I excel at being a very difficult man, but you admit it, my reward kisses are worth every last bit of it. My swimming kiss, you’ll like quite well, I promise you.”

Dean gave a mid-song grump, but held his end up. Nodding his head towards the glass he’d poured for Sam, so he’d see it, Dean dangled the grapes over Sam’s mouth just as he reached the part of the lyrics that described the way a woman sucked down her man’s… grapes.

Sam rolled his eyes but gave Dean something of a show of sucking down the grapes. He then drank some of the wine and let Dean continue to feed him grapes and tease him with rowdy bawdy songs until finally Sam couldn’t resist and had to join in, sometimes singing counterpoint to Dean. They certainly wouldn’t win any accolades for their singing, but as far as Sam was concerned, it was positively perfect and he knew he had a big grin plastered on his face.

Their voices echoed off the walls, and Dean didn’t give a damn that Humphries or another servant might occasionally be at the top of the stairs and hear them. When they finished a song, his smile was as wide as Sam’s.

He took a long drink of his wine, then he looked at Sam. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a little thick with emotion. “For chasing away certain bad memories. I was twelve, the last time I came down here.” He gave a half-smile. “It won’t be so long before the next time.” 

“Definitely not. I intend to take full advantage of this warm, Roman bath swimming hole. Frequently.” Sam set down his own glass of wine then took Dean’s from his hand. He wondered what the bad memories were, but now didn’t seem the time to ask. “Time for the kiss, I think. Lay back, floating on your back. When I tell you to take a breath, do so. There’ll be no drowning on my watch.” 

“Come kiss me on the stairs,” Dean suggested, tugging Sam. Floating on his back, he’d have no control and less traction. 

“Swimming kiss. Can’t swim if you’re hanging on to the stairs. C’mon. Have any of my special kisses disappointed you yet?’ Sam said, resisting Dean’s tugs.

“No, but…” Sam’s expression had Dean relenting. Easing onto his back, he floated, his gaze fixing on Sam.

Sam smiled at the trust and the heat he saw in Dean’s eyes. “Whole new set of good memories. I promise. Take a couple deep breaths and when I start kissing you, wrap your arms around my chest.” 

A smile tugged at Dean’s lips. “New memories,” he said, giving a nod, surprised Sam had been really listening to him. “Lips. Getting cold, now.”

Sam gave a soft huff. “Okay, breathe deep and blow it out, then again,” Sam said, taking deep breaths as Dean did. After the fifth deep breath, he gave a nod then practically pounced Dean. He locked his lips over Dean’s, wrapped his arms around him, and took him underwater, kicking so they shot forward, and spinning them so one moment Sam was on top, then Dean was on top. He slipped his thigh in between Dean’s legs, giving pressure to Dean’s cock with his thigh. He held out an arm and pushed them away from the wall they approached, and sent them undulating back out into the water. He tangled tongues with Dean, taking them deeper in the water

Adrenalin shot through Dean as they moved quickly through the water, kissing, lungs burning with the need for air, and both of them refusing to give this up for the privilege of breathing.

Sam finally angled upwards. When their heads broke the surface of the water, he pulled his mouth off and took a deep breath, grinning broadly at Dean, even as he rocked his thigh against Dean’s hardening erection. “So did you like it?” he asked breathlessly, wiping some water from his face.

Dean gave a soft moan, before taking deep breaths and clearing the water from his eyes. “It was--exhilarating. Thrilling,” he pronounced, his chest still rising and falling, like making love atop a carriage rushing at full speed. Rocking back against Sam, he gasped at the heat that shot through him. “You are amazing,” he declared.

“Of course I am,” Sam said, obviously teasing about his immodest boast. “In the Springtime, with the proper swing built for two, I’m doubly amazing,” he added, wriggling against Dean. “So more swimming kisses, more wine, or just relaxed floating about in this delicious pool?” He slowly spun the two of them around in the water. “Did I mention I was a mermaid in a past life?”

“If you were a mermaid, then I damned well better have been the Captain of the Seven Seas.” Leaning in, Dean stole a kiss from Sam, then another. “What about all of the above?” he asked, holding Sam close and still spinning with him, but slowly guiding them to the edge of the pool where fruit and wine awaited them.

“All of the above is good, too. Captain of the Seven Seas? That would mean you’d been a pirate. And as a mermaid, I sang you into the sea with me.” He gave Dean a kiss then began singing “Captain Jack and the Mermaid.”

“I think you could sing anyone you wanted into the sea,” Dean whispered, meaning every word. Sam had a way about him, and none of it was practiced, he could see that. He was inventive and charming, he could entrance with word or action. He had, else why had Dean been thinking of him all the time he was away?

Giving them one final spin, Dean sat on a shelf along the corner of the pool, settling Sam next to him sideways so that Sam’s legs extended over Dean’s lap. “Alright mermaid, close your eyes and have a taste of these.” As soon as Sam closed his eyes, Dean picked out a cherry from the fruit bowl. Although they were out of season, he no longer wondered how his staff managed to keep the manor supplied. “Open.”

When Sam opened his mouth, Dean first brushed his own lips across Sam’s, the tip of his tongue just grazing Sam’s. Lifting his head, he ran the satin soft skin of the cherry back and forth across Sam’s lips.

Sam had the sneaking suspicion that henceforth, Dean would call him mermaid. If that turned out to be true, he knew what he would beg of the tailor for a Christmas costume for himself. He liked the light kisses Dean gave him, so was disappointed when Dean pulled away. But then he felt another strange sensation of something against his lips and had it been warm, he might have thought it was not fruit at his lips, but something far more intimate.

Inhaling, Sam was fairly certain he smelled cherry, and with a quick motion sucked the cherry into his mouth, including the stem. He stripped the fruit from the pit, lodging the pit safely in his cheek, he chewed and swallowed the fruit, then tied the stem into a knot with his tongue. He slipped the stem back out so it was only gripped by his lips. 

“Fuck…” The vulgar oath fell from Dean’s lips before he could stop it. Without missing a beat, he dipped his head down and used his lips to pluck the knotted stem from Sam’s lips. Setting it aside, he leaned in again, sweeping his tongue inside Sam’s mouth, playfully kissing him until he found the pit. Curling his tongue around it, he withdrew and spit it into his hand, then put it on the tray. “Siren,” he declared, looking down at Sam. “Definitely Siren.”

Sam tsked and opened his eyes. “Sirens are half-bird and half-person. I think I’d rather be a merman, though, the ability to fly--” He gave Dean a playful glare. “Now you’ve gone and done it. Should I be part bird with the ability to soar far above the ground so that the people below are naught but specks like ants, exploring the highest of mountains and most exotic distant locales, or should I be a merman who can swim the deep seas, rescue handsome men from drowning, and explore shipwrecks and all the great mysteries of the oceans. I cannot decide which is the more enticing.”

“Merman with a siren’s voice, then. And you can let your Captain take care of the flying of the sails,” Dean smiled. “Open.” This time, he held some grapes above Sam’s mouth and teased him with them, moving them away.

“You are a tease. Just remember, he who teases now, will be teased mercilessly three times over later,” Sam threatened as he chased after the grapes with his mouth for the third time. “Sing me another song while you feed me fruit. Something...romantic-like, or Captainish, or about flying or sailing. But nothing sad. I forbid sad.”

“You must be the sole individual who wants to hear me sing.” Shaking his head, Dean let him catch a grape. Then another, as he thought of something he was capable of singing, and which might be enhanced by the echoes of the underground room. Recalling a song he often heard the wenches sing at the tavern, he started to sing about a young man who was fit as a fiddle, whose looks would make hearts flutter, and who could charm you into giving up everything. In the last stanza, he sang about snaring the young man’s heart, and charming him into giving up his freedom, and making an honest lad out of him.

Sam smiled and chuckled, familiar with the song, and joined in with Dean on the refrains. “Perfect. I bet that song describes you quite well. Why haven’t you been snared by a lover yet?” Sam asked, genuinely curious. The man seemed mostly pleasant, certainly was good looking, and had plenty of wealth. Half of London should be chasing after him. Unless, what if Dean was more like Sam had expected him to be? Impatient, cruel, and cut throat in his dealings with others. Although he hadn’t really gotten to know the man yet, the first concept of him was growing stronger in Sam’s mind. But if that were true, then why had he been so callous to Sam’s pleas for a little more time to pay his father’s debts?

“That song was about you, not me,” Dean answered, poking Sam in the chest. Twisting around, he grabbed two wine goblets and passed one to Sam. “As for me… I haven’t met anyone who I’d like to spend the rest of my days with. Don’t laugh, but oddly enough, I don’t subscribe to the idea of marriage with a bit o’ muslin on the side. Anyway,” he gave a mock frown, “it’s not as if I’m so long in the tooth that it’s surprising I’m a bachelor.”

Accepting the glass, Sam cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t anticipate marrying a woman to bear you heirs? And then have your chosen man on the side? My father knew of my flavor of lovers, but insisted I eventually find an intelligent young woman so the bloodline might continue. I always assumed that would be my life, but now,” he gave a small shake of his head, “it seems irrelevant. And truly, you are of an age that you should have found a bride five or six seasons ago,” Sam said and took a sip of the red wine. 

“If it’s a man that I choose, then my bloodline ends, or is continued through cousins.” Dean gave a shrug. “And if it is a woman, then no, there won’t be any bit o’ twill on the side.” He chuckled. “Most of my property is not entailed, except for my titles. I’ll let the future sort itself out and please, do not join the bandwagon of people trying to have me married off just yet.” 

“To being a bachelor for as long as you might wish, then,” Sam said in toast, raising his glass and clinking it lightly against Dean’s, taking a sip afterwards. “I admire that you are your own man. The pressures of noble blood and title can make that difficult at times, especially if you’re in royal circles.”

After taking a sip in response to Sam’s toast, Dean set his glass down. “The Prince has a male consort. Things are changing, even at court,” he said, popping a bit of cheese into his mouth. “But you’re right about the pressures of carrying on a bloodline. As I said, I have no strong feelings about carrying on my bloodline, but if I wanted to, and I was committed to a consort, I suppose I would beg him for permission to enter into a temporary marriage of convenience. It wouldn’t be difficult to find a woman of noble birth who would agree to bear an heir and a spare,” he chuckled, “and then be free of me. Divorce decrees are not difficult to come by, and she and the children would not want for anything.”

Dean took a few swallows of his drink, then declared, “You are going to have to give me another swimming kiss. All this talk of real world issues has made me forget what that kiss felt like.” 

“I don’t know, perhaps the imaginings are better than the real thing,” Sam said, but set his glass of wine aside and slid off of Dean’s lap. He held his hand out to Dean. “But I do think we should test the theory. Come. We must be in deeper water, and then you can lay back and close your eyes, imagining my kiss, taking ever deeper breaths.” Sam was already contemplating what new and exciting moves he could put into this swimming kiss and his eyes shone with mischief. He was fairly certain Dean already suspected this kiss would be even better and more interesting than the last.


	6. Chapter 6

A few days later, Dean sought Sam out. He’d had business to attend to the day before and had left Sam to his own devices, but he was prepared to make up for it. He found the man right where he expected, in the music room.

Walking up behind him, he placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders and massaged him lightly. Leaning down, he whispered in his ear. “Would you like to go adventuring with me, oh merman of mine?”

Sam stopped playing the piano. His lips pressed together into a thin line. He knew the duke had duties to tend to, and he didn’t begrudge Dean that, but they had made plans to go riding, picnicking and racing, a whole day that was supposed to be Sam’s. Yesterday. Instead, Dean had left even before breakfast and hadn’t returned until now, apparently. _Humphries_ had been the one to tell him. Dean hadn’t even given him the courtesy of looking him in the eye and apologizing before he left. So, yes, he was still a bit pissed at the man. “I don’t know. Are you going to disappear in the middle of it without so much as a goodbye?”

“No, I’m yours for the rest of the evening.” It was late afternoon, but darkness had started to fall. There was a silence. “I didn’t want to wake you. You rarely sleep in,” he said. He kissed Sam’s cheek, and then straightened. 

“What adventures did you have in mind? Not like we can go out riding and have a picnic at this time. Or visit the village shops, or visit the sea cliffs, or race back from them. As we were going to do yesterday.” Sam tried to keep his voice neutral. He really had no business being angry with Dean. He was nothing more than a consort. He was here at the Duke’s convenience and obviously, yesterday hadn’t been convenient. And apparently neither was today. Until now.

Sam’s stilted words made it clear to Dean that he’d hurt Sam’s feelings. The realization brought a rush of feelings of anything but anger or impatience, which is what he would have expected. “I missed you, too,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he cupped Sam’s face and tilted it up towards him. “This is my way of making it up to you. I promise you won’t be disappointed. It’s something that, in my youth, I always thought was worth risking punishment for.” Releasing Sam’s face, he put his hand out. “Won’t you come?” 

Sam felt his cheeks flush when Dean said he’d missed him, and shockingly, looking into those tender green eyes, his heart stuttered for a moment in his chest. He swallowed hard, wanting to deny the sudden warmth he felt at Dean’s touch. Not trusting himself to speak, he took Dean’s hand and stood, ready to follow, wondering what could entice a young Dean out, ready to face the wrath of his father if caught.

“You won’t regret this,” Dean said, lifting Sam’s hand up to his lips and kissing his knuckles. The moment passed, and then he was tugging Sam out of the room and yelling, “Humphries!”

As they walked down the hall, Humphries and another servant rushed to them, helping them into fur-lined riding coats and passing them their gloves. 

“I’ll have the carriage prepared for Miss Delanor and have her meet you. Keep safe, your Grace,” the old retainer said as they walked out towards the stables. 

“Of course.” Dean nodded with approval at the sight of their already saddled horses. Releasing Sam’s hand, he mounted his horse then he reached for the small bag of coins that Humphries was passing up to him.

Sam rearranged his scarf to keep the bottom of his chin warm as the air turned to vapor every time he exhaled. Both horses were stomping their hooves, obviously ready to get moving to warm themselves. Sam patted Jericho’s neck, reassuring him they would be riding soon. He thought he heard the clink of coins and asked, “What are you up to?” 

“Up to no good, no doubt. You recall the way to town?” At Sam’s nod, Dean kicked his heels lightly and took off across the field that provided a short cut. There was enough moonlight to see by, and no reason to travel slowly across the safe terrain, so he went into a full gallop, knowing Sam would keep up.

“Yes, because there are so many evil bones in your body,” Sam muttered. He hardly had to nudge Jericho and the horse was off. Jericho was the type that hated to have any other horse in front of him. The horse quickly caught up with Dean’s steed so they were running side-by-side, their hooves pounding _thumphfs_ in the now lightly frozen fields.

“I hope you mean that in a good way,” Dean shouted, his breaths misting as he spoke. Leaning forward, he rode harder, knowing Sam liked a challenge. 

After they’d crossed the field, they headed down a road toward town, but then Dean veered his horse to the left, into the woods, slowing down considerably. Soon, they could hear music. Accordions and violins, and clapping. There was laughter, calls, and howls. Dean glanced at Sam and gave him a smile just as they broke into a large clearing where a Gypsy camp had been set up. 

Women in colorful garb danced around the fire, some with men and some alone. Fortunetellers plied their trade, while others told stories for a pretty penny, stopping at exciting points until paid to continue. Some townspeople that Sam recognized were there, making merry. The savory smell of lamb and other meats cooking over open fires tinged the air.

“What do you think, was I foolish or right?” The Duke asked. 

Sam’s mouth had fallen open. He’d heard of Gypsies, occasionally seeing them on the road, but he’d never been in one of their camps. “I thought we were going to toss pennies on doorsteps or something but I couldn’t determine how that would get you in trouble in your youth. Now, I understand. I’ve never met any Gypsies, only seen them from afar.”

“You’ll find they’re just like us, only with more interesting manners of speech and they know how to give a bloody good party. But if you prefer to toss pennies…” Dean started to turn his horse around, mirth lighting up his eyes. 

“No!” Sam hissed, suddenly feeling self-conscious sitting on the horse, staring at the colorful dresses and scarves worn by the Gypsies and some of those he knew from town. “So where do we hitch the horses so we can partake of the party?”

“Are you sure?” Chuckling, Dean nodded towards some covered wagons. When they reached them, a man in dark clothing, wearing a black hat and a red scarf around his neck approached and took the reins. 

As they dismounted, Dean greeted the man and told him he hadn’t changed in twenty years. They joked, and he briefly introduced Sam before the man took the horses away. 

“You see that wagon over there? It’s Madam Esmeralda’s. She’s a fortuneteller. When I was a lad, she called me inside. I almost pissed my pants,” Dean admitted as they walked towards one of the fires with dancers around it. 

“Oh, no, you can’t stop there. Tell me what she told you,” Sam insisted. “And why so scared of her? Was she prone to predicting deaths or did she put the fear of God in you or what? How accurate was she?” he asked, glad to get near the fires. The air was definitely much warmer here.

“I was scared because I’d never seen a fortune teller. And her headdress is--you’ll see.” As soon as they neared the fire, someone offered to bring chairs, but Dean lifted his hand up to stop them. 

They received a few nods from the townspeople, and then a pretty woman with dark, flashing eyes approached and asked if they wanted food and drink. Dean immediately agreed, telling her he’d have his usual but to bring Sam a little of everything since he was _adventurous_. A look passed between them, and then Dean turned his attention back to Sam. 

“You’ll be the one sorry if I get faint from eating something atrocious. I’ll make sure to empty my gullet on to you,” Sam threatened Dean. “So what did Madame Esmeralda tell you? Did she read your palm? Use cards? A crystal ball? What?”

“You ask a lot of questions. Don’t you know fortunes are supposed to be kept to yourself?” Dean cocked his head to the side, but answered anyway. “She gave me the works, all three. Said…” He frowned, “I’m a hard one to read, I appear one way, but am the opposite. Which, yeah, I figured was a good way to tell me absolutely nothing at all.” He laughed. “Then she said that I would be faced with the choice of following my father’s path, or making my own. And that I should choose wisely, or I’d be a bitter old man, something like that. I don’t remember the rest.” He shrugged.

Sam gave a soft laugh and nod. “Yeah, kind of what I anticipated. Just vague information.” His attention was drawn by the unusual instruments. He found himself wandering over next to the musicians and watching them intensely, watching their fingers dance over the strings and flutes, practically mesmerized.

“You know, they’ll be here for a few days. If you come during the daytime, I’ll bet some of them will be happy to have you play music with them. Then you can play something shockingly erotic for me,” he smirked, one hand lightly pressing against the small of Sam’s back as they watched. 

Sam gave Dean a brief glare. “I’m still a _little_ mad at you. You haven’t quite earned erotic. Shocking, I can probably do that. But yes, I’d like to learn some of their music. And you are going to have to teach me their dances. After we eat.” He nudged Dean, pointing to the dark-haired beauty who was waving them over to a small bench table where they could eat.

“I’m not dancing. Not until I’ve had a lot of liquor and can’t tell how badly I’m mangling the dances.” Following Sam’s gaze, he saw the woman, and then guided Sam over to the table. They sat down, and he waved over the tavern owner’s son, who joined them with his friends. “Dinner and drinks for my friends, here.” He also invited a few of the Romani he’d gotten to know over the years to join them.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to get you liquored up good and proper. So who can hold their liquor the best? A tavern owner’s son, a Gypsy, some very skilled tradesmen, or the Duke? Who will be the first to pass out and have to be carried home in disgrace?” Sam challenged. “Come, cough up the coin. A half-penny from each of you and no more, for this is all in good fun. If you quit, you forfeit your chance to gain the pot as the last man standing!”

It was obvious to all that Sam’s challenge was good-natured and not to be taken seriously, but many still laid coin on the table in front of Sam, sometimes betting on themselves, or proclaiming someone else as being the winner, in which case they’d split the pot. Sam paid rapt attention to who bet on whom, then looked at his plate of food which obviously had a sampling of everything. “Huh. Interesting,” he said, poking at some of the stranger items with his spoon.

Dean looked happily at his own plate, filled with completely familiar foods. “Perhaps we should drink a glass before Sam starts his meal.”

There was laughter and nods of agreement.

“To adventurous lads,” Dean nodded toward Sam, “and the rest of us, who live through them.” 

“I think I may have to drink two glasses to brave some of the more, ah exotic, foods on this plate.” Sam looked at the others at the table. “I’m willing to try most anything, but I insist I at least know what it is. So someone give me the details of what I am about to eat. If I can _stomach_ haggis, I’m certain I can eat what’s on this plate.”

There was more laughter as everyone drank. One of the men from the camp explained what was on Sam’s plate, and none of it was as frightening as Dean had implied.

“You forgot to tell him about the lamb’s eye jelly,” Dean said pointedly.

“Well, sometimes what one does not know does not hurt him.” The man exchanged looks with Dean. “This might be a good time to raise another glass, no?”

“Yes,” a chorus rang out, and Dean knocked his knee against Sam’s to encourage him to join in.

“Eyeball juice? Eyeball juice is excellent with its delicate flavor. I prefer it with eggs in the morning when I have it,” Sam said, smirking, his tone impossible to tell if he was joking or not. He lifted his cup and drank some of it down. “Since Dean has told me he would risk the wrath of his father to come visit you, you must tell me some of the adventures you talked him into or vice versa. There must surely be fine tales to be told!”

Dean groaned, and lifted his hand up to prevent any such stories.

“Let’s just say his clothing collected a lot of hay, before he went on home,” one of the men said with a fake, delicate cough.

Another tossed in, “One year, he hid in one of the wagons when we refused to allow him to travel with us, do you remember?”

“Wine.” Dean raised his empty glass as the dam burst, and the men started to tell their stories, exaggerating for entertainment value. “You, know the rule is what goes on here, stays here,” Dean said, pointing at the townsmen. “No tongue wagging.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it, your Grace. But tell us, what happened to your missing trousers that day?” When Dean didn’t bother to answer, one of the other men continued his story.

“See what you’ve started?” Dean asked Sam, though his eyes danced. “Now eat your eyeballs.”

“You don’t eat the eyeballs, only the jelly inside,” Sam answered him, delighting in the tales being told. He kept his drinking slower when he could because if Dean wanted to return to the manor tonight, one of them would have to be sober enough to keep them astride the horses. Then again… “Are we staying here tonight and riding back in the morn?” Sam asked Dean. He made a face when he tried something salty and leathery. “Okay, that’s off the ‘I like’ list.” He finished his wine to get rid of the taste and put the rest of the leathery thing on Dean’s plate. 

“If I’d wanted donkey ass, I’d have asked for it,” Dean said a little louder than he’d intended. Then they were faced with a whole host of suggestions that it was deer’s ass, or dog’s ass. One of the men from the camp finally corrected them and it turned out to be a smoked plant. 

“You, keep your food on your own plate,” Dean ordered Sam, cutting into his own delicious meat, and following with a few forkfuls of potato. “We ride back tonight. Don’t worry, I’d know the way with my eyes covered,” he added. “And in any case, you’re the lightweight.” Before long, he proceeded to tell the others about how drunk Sam had been when they’d left the tavern and how he’d serenaded him on the ride back. Soon the entire table was drinking and singing.

Sam had grown to be an expert in the bawdiest of songs since he’d become poor, for he had indeed sung for his supper upon occasion. However, the Gypsies, not to be outdone, sang some songs he’d never heard before, but quickly committed to memory. Once they had finished eating, Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist and got up. “C’mon. You said you’d dance once you were in your cups.”

“Right well, I--” Dean’s sputtering was ignored, as he was pulled over to one of the fires where dancers moved to the rhythm of the music. “I don’t remember the steps.”

Even that excuse didn’t work since a man and woman joined them, each one showing them the simplest steps and slowly working up to more difficult ones. By the time they moved away from their sides, he and Sam were doing quite well. 

Sam was twirling, stomping, and shouting amid laughter bubbling from him. He loved the unrestrained dancing so different from the formal dancing he was accustomed to. Even tavern dancing couldn’t compete with this, large, showy steps that were physically demanding and yet completely freeing. He swept Dean up in his enthusiasm, swept anyone up that got close enough for him to dance with.

After several songs, Sam finally collapsed, panting at the outer ring of the dancers where people sat on crates and logs and benches. He’d abandoned Dean out there and Dean hadn’t quite realized it yet. This gave Sam a chance to just watch the Duke, watch him having fun and trying new steps. Sam couldn’t help smiling. The man was most definitely handsome, and so unlike what he’d expected. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps there had been some sort of misunderstanding in the letter he’d sent the Duke with a partial good faith payment of his father’s debt. Maybe the Duke mistook the payment as all he was going to pay. He had to admit, even these few days with the Duke made him want to believe that of the man.

Eventually Dean realized Sam had retreated and the next time he found himself near Sam, he extricated himself from the dancers. He’d already removed his jacket, and he couldn’t recall how he’d lost his cravat or how his shirt had come to be unbuttoned. But the cool air was welcome.

Stopping in front of Sam, he put his hand out. “Come, you can’t expect to stare at me like that and have no consequences.”

“Who says I was staring at you? Maybe I was staring at Gallius.” He laughed and let Dean pull him to his feet. “I can see why you would come here despite the dangers. And you tried to run away with them, eh? Do you think you would have been happier as a wandering Gypsy than a duke?”

“Certainly not. Who would be my valet?” And yet, there was a wistful note in Dean’s voice. They headed for some of the wagons, weaving between them, until Dean slowly backed Sam up against one of them. “You owe me a kiss,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to Sam’s lips, then rising up over his head, to the sprig of mistletoe hanging there. Course he’d paid someone to place it right there for him. 

“I do, do I? I haven’t got a Gypsy kiss in my repertoire. Why don’t you show me? For I suspect it is something that I should add,” he murmured, looking at Dean’s lips, his eyes drifting down to the exposed parts of Dean’s chest still coated with a sheen of sweat. 

“Ah, you want to be initiated.” Giving a nod, Dean put his hands on the wagon, on either side of Sam’s body. Leaning in, he brushed his lips over Sam’s, then kissed him lightly, playfully, pulling away. “No, that’s not quite right.”

He stepped back and scratched his head. “It’s coming back to me,” he explained, then suddenly pulled Sam into his arms and kissed him to the beat of the wild music now pulsing through the camp. Sliding his hands down to Sam’s thighs, he hefted him up, taking a step so Sam’s back was against the wagon as he kissed him again, his tongue dancing a heated tango with Sam’s.

Sam didn’t expect to be lifted and let out with a surprised sound that was all but lost in his moans as he kissed Dean. Wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders, his tongue warred with Dean’s and he felt a flutter in his stomach as his heart began to race, thumping against his chest to the same beat as the music that echoed among the wagons. He broke off only to take a breath then went right back to kissing Dean, the sounds he was making growing in neediness.

The kissing had been meant to ease the burning of Dean’s lips. Instead, it made Dean want more. More of Sam’s kisses, his taste, the sounds he made. God, the way his fingers sometimes bit into Dean’s flesh, signaling need and desperation. Groaning, Dean deepened the kiss, and lightly thrust against him, seeking to ease the pressure building between his legs. 

Sam broke the kiss, trying to catch his breath. “Find us a place, a warm place. I want you to take me,” he said, meeting Dean’s eyes. Maybe it was too soon to give himself to Dean, for he certainly hadn’t come to terms yet with who and what the man was, but he burned with need. The same need he saw in Dean’s eyes. 

Dean’s mouth went dry. He’d been waiting for this for days upon days. When he’d won the auction, he’d anticipated they’d be sharing the bed, in the true sense, within a day. But Sam’s poorly veiled reluctance had kept Dean from insisting on what was his right under contract. Seeing the desire in Sam’s eyes, and hearing it in his voice, Dean knew it had been worth the wait.

“We’ll be picking straw off each other for a week,” Dean answered, his voice husky. Reluctantly setting Sam down, and biting his lower lip as Sam’s arousal dragged against his body, Dean nodded toward another set of wagons. Taking Sam’s hand, he pulled him towards them. 

The wagons were filled with fresh hay. Helping Sam up, Dean followed him inside. It was dark, except for the silvery light of the moon spilling inside. Dean ran his hand over Sam’s face, then to his shirt, and started to carefully undress him. His breaths were uneven, his eyes shining.

Sam caressed Dean’s face letting his hand drift down to his neck then to his chest. “The way you breathe, the way your hands tremble, you would think this was your first time,” Sam said, letting Dean do as he pleased. Deftly he unbuttoned the few remaining buttons keeping Dean’s shirt closed. “Why did you choose me?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know. I took one look at you and knew I had to have you,” Dean said, looking down at his hands that were indeed shaking a little, much to his surprise. He licked his lips and looked back up. “That’s not entirely true. I liked what I saw, but I liked the fire, the fight in your eyes. You were clearly no sycophant who’d lie and flatter me for thirty days. You offered challenge, and … truth.” 

Grabbing a handful of Sam’s now open shirt, Dean tugged him close, so close that their lips were inches apart. “And if Lord Carrington were out of the picture, would you have opened your shirt for me?” Dean asked. “Or was there someone else you would have wanted to win you?” The question was edged with a possessiveness Dean hadn’t been aware he was feeling.

“There were a few I hoped would not want me. If you had been a stranger to me, I think you would have been among my top choices, for you are very handsome. You obviously had wit and charm, a bonus for me, as the uneducated, those who have no curiosity or lust for life, they would not suit me, and I would not suit them. I am not yet certain, but I do not think you are the man I was led to believe you are. The jury is still deciding, weighing evidence, hearsay, and facts. But for here and now, I desire you and the jury be damned. It has been a good evening and I crave your touch.” Sam began to slowly undo Dean’s belt and ties on his pants.

Dean’s head rocked back and he drew a deep breath, the ache between his legs sharpening at Sam’s fluttering touches. “I am neither all saint nor all sinner. You’ll find that is true of most men.” He rose to his knees, to make it easier for Sam to free him, his stomach clenching in anticipation of his touch. 

“I am rather hoping for more sinner than saint tonight,” Sam said, his eyes aglow with heat as his touch drifted across the man’s groin, feeling the hardening erection grow. He gave a slight smile at the sharp intake of breath he heard come from Dean. “And what would you hope from your lover this eve?”

“Come sin with me,” Dean said with no hesitation, drawing Sam into his arms and kissing him with all the passion building inside him. Groaning against Sam’s lips, Dean reached between them and ran his hands over Sam’s chest, his gut tightening as he felt Sam’s muscles flex under his palms.

Sliding his hands under the waistband of Dean’s pants, Sam’s calloused hands caressed and squeezed the firm muscles of Dean’s ass. He kissed Dean back with the same intense passion as Dean kissed him, lifting his hips to rub their erections against one another. Tonight he didn’t care that this man might have cost him everything. Tonight he wanted pleasure, to feel desired and valued, to be a man worthy of love and respect.

Their kisses grew more furious. Dean gave a deep groan, and swept Sam’s trousers down to his thighs. Then, with Sam’ help, he pulled his own pants part way down. Their bodies slammed together once more, neither one wanting any distance between them. This time, they were skin-to-skin as they kissed and explored each others’ bodies. 

Dean’s need spiraled. He wanted Sam so badly. Had been wanting him so badly. His nights were filled with dreams of the man in his bed, and his early mornings were spent taking care of his aching cock to thoughts of Sam. Now he could have what he wanted, and yet… he practically tore himself away before instinct took over.

Breathing heavily, he put his hand out, preventing Sam from coming back to him just yet. “I won’t take you here. We’re not prepared and I’m not so small that you won’t pay for it tomorrow.” He pushed Sam down onto the hay on his side, and lay down across from him, his head in the same direction as Sam’s feet.

Disappointed and shocked, Sam almost demanded preparation be damned. But Dean’s words sunk through his lust-laden thoughts. Dean was giving him exactly what he wanted. Respect. Sam bit back the absurd laughter that wanted to bubble from him for he knew Dean wouldn’t understand it and he didn’t want to explain.

Pulling Sam’s trousers down a little more, Dean grasped his cock in his hand. An oath dropped from his lips, then he brought Sam’s cock to his mouth and started to service him, the way he was accustomed to being serviced himself. He used his tongue to tease and to inflame, letting his lips skim over Sam’s crown but refusing to let it slip inside. This was going to be a night they both remembered, forever.

Dean’s cock was near Sam’s head and after ensuring his hand was warm, and Dean’s pants were low enough, Sam reached out and lightly touched Dean hard need. He knew it would be agony for the man, but he wanted his touch to be different than those who had come before, and he wanted Dean to remember everything he did for him and how it made him feel. After wetting his thumb with his tongue, he gently rubbed his thumb around Dean’s crown, even as his breath hissed out of him as he felt Dean’s tongue toy mercilessly with him.

Dean’s hips jerked forward and he barely stifled a groan. Just that light, wet touch of Sam’s thumb was winding him up so tight inside, he almost released Sam to demand more. But somehow, through the aching haze of need clouding his mind, he realized that Sam was prolonging his pleasure. That there would be satisfaction at the end of this.

“If you wish to kill me, you are doing a good job,” Dean said through clenched teeth. But he didn’t insist on more. Instead, he found pleasure in the light touches, thrusting his hips when it became unbearable, and then waiting for more. He wasn’t as cruel to Sam, steadily squeezing him with more pressure, though he continued to tease with his mouth, refusing to suck Sam’s tip. Perhaps if he upped the stakes, Sam wouldn’t be able to think straight. That thought had Dean moving his head between Sam’s thighs, and sucking his balls into his mouth.

Sam smirked at Dean’s comment, pleased with the reactions he was drawing from the man. His own groans came out almost rhythmic as Dean squeezed him and toyed with his tip, but he ached for Dean to take him in his mouth.

He felt Dean shift and suddenly his balls were encased in heat, making Sam cry out in pleasure even as his own hand tightened around Dean’s shaft. Every motion of Dean’s mouth on his balls, the way his tongue played with Sam, had Sam groaning. Turning his attention to Dean’s cock, he brought its tip to his mouth, barely sucking on it, squeezing it, in response to anything Dean did that pleasured him. 

It was Dean’s turn to groan at the things Sam did to him. They were a fine pair, withholding, torturing, teasing and taunting. Very quickly he learned that his actions caused a reaction. The more pressure he gave Sam, the more he received. And yet, neither one got everything he wanted.

Finally, Dean pulled off Sam’s balls and licked the length of his shaft. “Want to take you inside my mouth. Want to suck you. To keep sucking until you’re shouting my name and coming inside my mouth,” he rasped, speaking against Sam’s hard flesh.

Sam shuddered when Dean licked up the underside of his cock. “That-that sounds like a fine idea,” he said, his words thick and threaded with need. “Then...then I want you,” Sam swallowed hard, his cock throbbing with need. “Want you to fuck my mouth.” Sam sucked Dean’s cock into his mouth, deep throating him, lightly sucking as he pulled all the way off.

“Good God above!” Dean exclaimed, seeing white flashes behind his eyelids and fighting the urge to do just that. To roll on top of Sam and take his mouth. Just as he returned the favor, taking Sam’s cock deep into his mouth, some merry makers came close to the wagon their voices and laughter carrying into the wagon. Dean redoubled his efforts-- if he was going to have difficulty keeping quiet, he would make damn sure that Sam was as well.

“Holy…!” Sam cried out as Dean took him in. He bit back his cry with the revelers so near. Best he keep his mouth full if Dean was going to do that to him. He decided to return the favor of the thorough ball washing Dean had giving him, and sucked Dean’s sack into his mouth, his tongue pulsing against Dean’s balls, flicking back and forth between them, occasionally tickling and pressing the spot that separated the two round globes inside. 

Dean’s groan was loud and raw. His insides were liquefying from the heat, the pleasure. Every night could have been like this, he realized. But before he could regret the wasted time, he came to another realization. It hardly mattered what they did. Around the world kisses. Digging for treasure. Teasing each other in the Roman bathing pool. Each time, it felt like this. Like something he didn’t want to end, like something he’d missed all his life.

Pulling off Sam’s hard flesh, he started to lick around it furiously, and then he stopped to blow across wet skin. “Do you want to come?” he asked softly, just as the voices started to retreat. 

Sam let Dean’s balls slide slowly out of his mouth. “Eventually. In your mouth. Make it last,” Sam said. “Please.”

Dean chuckled, closed his arms around Sam’s knees and carefully rolled over, setting his own knees down so he was straddling Sam’s shoulders and had his face between Sam’s thighs. “Alright, we’ll take our time, then,” he said, somewhat amused as he was much more used to quick affairs when it came to making love in places he could be discovered. But why should he expect Sam to be ordinary in actions or desires?

Grasping Sam’s cock, he stroked it lightly with his fist, setting a slow, steady rhythm. He used his mouth to tease his tip, licking and sucking, and mouthing his way along Sam’s shaft. 

Sam moaned at the feelings Dean stirred inside him, at the tendrils of flame and desire and pleasure. To be able to relax, to enjoy the warmth of the hay and the wagon. To be able to take one’s time without worry of servants or anyone else walking in on them. It was a relief, even if there was some risk of attention if they made too much noise.

As Dean began to stroke him, Sam ran his hands over Dean’s waist, letting his hands drift over and caress Dean’s groin, toying lightly with him, stretching his head up now and again, to lick over the bead of precum on Dean’s tip. His fingers danced over Dean’s bare ass, feeling the muscles tighten under his touch and smiling at that.

A soft whimper broke from Dean. His skin felt tight and so damned sensitive that Sam’s light caresses were driving him mad. It took an iron will to keep himself from lowering his hips, and to allow Sam to tease his cock like that. The next time Sam’s tongue and firm lips made contact, Dean dipped his head lower, and pressed his tongue against the sensitive area between Sam’s cock and sack, then moved his mouth over his balls, sucking ever so lightly. 

“Unnnghh, Dean.” Sam groaned, his hot breath blowing over Dean’s cock. Gripping the back of Dean’s thighs, his fingers dug rhythmically into the strong muscles there. Sam couldn’t help placing his feet flat on the floor and lifting his hips in needy jerky motions, forgetting about teasing Dean’s own cock for the moment. Then a bead of cum dropped into his open mouth and he lifted up, sucking hard on Dean’s tip as more needy sounds rumbled in the back of his throat.

Searing heat lanced through Dean, causing him to echo Sam’s groan. Pulling off Sam’s balls, he whispered thickly. “Don’t stop. Please.” Hoping for mercy, he grasped Sam’s cock and went down on it, moving his fist up and down, chasing his mouth, twisting his wrist each time his hand was at the base of Sam’s cock. Though he knew Sam wanted to last as long as possible, he decided they’d play that game later, in the comfort of his bed. When Sam wasn’t teasing him, when the need to come wasn’t so pressing.

Dean’s need was as clear in his voice as the bells of the church on Sunday morn. The same need Sam felt. Lightning echoed in his insides; answering thunder made him quiver. Wrapping his arms around Dean, he pulled him down a little or pulled himself up, maybe both. He wasn’t sure and it didn’t matter. The thunder inside him turned to vibrations in his throat as he sucked Dean’s solid cock into his mouth. He sucked down Dean’s shaft as Dean was pulling off his own, then pulled off as Dean went down on him. It was a perfect rhythm, seeming to match the rowdy Gypsy music in the distance as his heart pounded faster and faster in his chest.

It was as if they were dancing their own private dance, as wild and erotic as the music. Their _steps_ were perfectly matched, moving faster and faster, spiraling, crescendoing, driving each other, fueling each other’s needs. And when he was about to succumb to the storms raging inside him, Dean gripped Sam’s thigh, his fingers biting into Sam’s flesh to indicate he was at the edge. Every muscle in his body tightened, his balls pressing tight against his body before he accidentally thrust his hips, pushing his cock a little deeper into the warm heat of Sam’s mouth. A deep groan broke from him as he climaxed hard, coming in his lover’s mouth even as he coaxed Sam to come with him. 

It was beautiful, exciting, a ride of perfection. Sam felt Dean’s bruising grip, felt the tension, the thrum, and relaxed his throat, ready to take whatever Dean gave. As he expected, Dean thrust deeper and he could feel it as Dean’s balls spasmed. Cum poured down his throat as he felt Dean urge him to match him and Sam thrust up, shouting Dean’s name only in his mind as his own cum overflowed.

Dean gave a deep rumble as Sam came, swallowing down his cum and milking him, taking every last drop before pulling off. He licked him for good measure, and as soon as Sam released him, he rolled off onto his back. “That was…” He’d been about to say ‘worth ten auction prices,’ but bit it back, knowing how it might be taken. 

Then he sat up, squirming a little to push away some of the hay poking him, before looking down into Sam’s face. “You are amazing. Like no other,” he said, slanting his mouth over Sam’s for a lingering kiss.

Sam welcomed Dean’s kiss, tasting himself while still tasting Dean in his mouth as their tongues warred gently. Sam was still panting, trying to catch his breath and pulled away slightly. “I might say the same, if it wouldn’t grow your ego beyond measure,” Sam teased. “Perhaps a nap here might be warranted for you have done the unimaginable. You have tired me out. Or perhaps the dancing, or the laughing and singing.” Sam felt his eyes begin to slide close as he rolled over, laying half-on, half-off of Dean. “Wake me in four songs,” he murmured.

“Uh-uh, no sleeping. I know what happens. You close your eyes, and then the next thing you know, it’s morning and we’re sneaking out of the camp and there’s laughter and jokes and they’ve hidden our trousers and the horses.” Getting up on his knees, Dean started to get dressed. “Up. Come on. We’ll get some wine or ale, and see if the fortuneteller will see you. Or we can head back if you don’t want to know what is in store for you,” he teased. 

Sam gave a huff of annoyance. “Do you know the best ending to a good blow job? The nap you get to take after, where you dream it all over again.” He slowly sat up and grabbed at some of his clothes. Getting to his feet, he shook his clothes to try to rid them of the hay. “Yes, I’d like to meet this fortune teller and see what she has to say about my future. Though if she says I’m drowned in a Roman bath in the near future--”

“Just don’t attempt a blow job in the bath, and you won’t drown.” Course that thought had Dean yearning for a bit of naughtiness in the pool. After straightening his clothes, he started to pick some hay out of Sam’s hair. “The way you look,” he said, his gaze lingering on Sam’s swollen lips and softly shining eyes, “she’ll probably tell you you’ve just been bedded and to expect more of it in the near future.” He hopped off the wagon, and chuckled. 

“I could say the same,” Sam said, following Dean out and returning the favor, running his fingers through the Duke’s hair to rid it of hay and straw and smooth it down a bit. Then he grabbed Dean’s arm and pushed him up against the wagon, glancing up at the mistletoe still hanging there. “My turn to claim a kiss.” He covered Dean’s mouth with his own and did not allow Dean to take over. His goal was to have the man seeing stars.

Dean only struggled to take control until it was clear Sam wouldn’t allow it. Closing his own arms around Sam, he leaned against the wagon and went along for the ride. This man could kiss. Could so easily take his breath away. And that trumped ‘force of habit,’ every time, and Dean never regretted it. He gave a deep ‘hmmm,’ as they kissed, dragging Sam closer, and sliding his mouth against Sam’s. And even when he was out of breath and his head was spinning, he didn’t break the kiss, allowing Sam to have his way.

Sam finally broke for air, smirking at the look on Dean’s face. He drew in as deep a breath as Dean. After a few indrawn breaths he asked, “So what’s next on this wild ride you have planned for us? We’ve eaten, we’ve drank, we’ve danced, we’ve kissed, we’ve,” he glanced at the wagon, “gotten covered with hay. Have you more mischief in mind? Aside from the fortune teller?”

“Maybe she can tell me how it is that you keep taking me to the well, and bringing me back thirsty for more,” Dean answered, slowly running the pad of his thumb over his burning lips and wanting to go another round already. He took Sam’s hand, turning it over to look at his palm. “I don’t know about the fortune teller, but I see a whole lot more of _me_ in your future.”

Sam gave him a poke in his shoulder with his free hand. “‘Cause I’m amazing, remember?” He looked into the palm Dean was supposedly studying. “Uh-huh. See. All the palm reading hocus pocus is absolutely rigged. Course if I’m going to see a whole lot more of you in my future, you walking around naked all the time might raise some eyebrows and start some gossip.

“You’re right, maybe I should send everyone away.” Grinning, Dean grasped Sam’s hand and headed for the fortuneteller’s wagon. Once they were outside it, he stopped. “She’ll let us know when--”

“Come!” A deep, but distinctly feminine voice, called.

“Told you,” Dean practically shoved Sam to the stairs.

“Uh-huh. Good hearing or someone signaled her,” Sam said, giving Dean a push back. Sam dipped his head as he climbed the stairs and opened the door. Inside, the place was littered with glass bead and shells on strings, colorful transparent to translucent rocks sat everywhere, and several candles were burning. The wagon smelled of exotic scents and multicolored scarves hung all about. 

“I’m not a big believer of occult things, just so you know.” Sam said, his head practically brushing the ceiling as he looked at the old women dressed with many necklaces, a scarf around her head, multilayer skirts, and layered blouses with a vest sewn with coins and trinkets. Her long hair was black as ebony but striped with grey and cascaded down and over her shoulders. At her motion, he settled into the chair across from her.

“I don’t require or ask for your belief,” she answered him coolly, looking up as Dean stepped in. 

Dean gave her a nod and sat down on the chair slightly behind Sam’s. It was odd, how her eagle sharp eyes still had the power to disconcert him.

“It has happened then?”

Dean quirked a brow. “What? Oh, Sam is here for _his_ fortune. I’m good.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

Not many could insult the Duke and get away with it. Yet Dean didn’t answer her.

“I told you, all those years ago that you’d find it. What you need, here in our camp.” She shook her head, “Running away with us wasn’t the answer.” Seeing his continued blank look, she insulted him again and took Sam’s hand. “Let’s hope you are more intelligent when it comes to the affairs of the heart.”

Sam chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that’s likely.” He glanced back at Dean. “So that’s why you hid in their wagons, huh? Looking for a dream? _Ouch!_ ” he said when the older woman poked his hand with a needle. He turned around and glared at her, but she kept a surprisingly tight hold of his hand.

While Sam glared at the fortune teller, Dean glared at Sam, hoping the woman would poke him again.

She moved the lamp, so more light shone onto Sam’s palm. Then she started to trace lines across it, muttering under her breath. Finally, she lifted her face up. “You had a happy childhood. It helps you now, in your darker days, just as it helped you before, when you found the strength and will to put your affairs in order, yes?”

“I wouldn’t describe losing my mother at a young age as a happy even, but yeah, I had a decent life. My father did his best. And I’m not sure dwelling on those happier times has done much more than make me realize the world pretty much sucks unless you’ve got coin in your pocket and a full stomach.” Sam knew his words sounded bitter. He tried to stay positive in his life of the newly poor, but it was hard.

“And yet you still have smiles for those around you. You give to those less fortunate. You share your gains. That, you idiot, comes from true happiness.”

Dean’s snicker was cut short by the woman’s sharp glance.

“You draw on the good times to balance the bad,” she insisted, dropping Sam’s hand. She drew her crystal ball in front of her and waved her hand over it a few times, before staring into it and moving the ball around. “Hmm, ah… mmm,” she nodded. Then she looked at Dean and nodded toward the door. “Out.”

“What? I want to--”

“Out.”

Scowling, Dean got up and left, his footfalls heavy as he went down the stairs.

She looked back at the crystal ball.

“You had found your path, but you were thrown off it. Pushed off.” She nodded. “But you are tenacious. You haven’t given up. Ah…” She looked up at him. “You will find what you need when you give for free that which you have sold. Now, tell the Duke to drop his coin in the box,” she said, clearly dismissing him. 

“So what did you mean about Dean finding what he was looking for?” Sam asked. “And why can’t you spit it all out plainly? Why all the hocus pocus?”

“I take you to the water. It’s up to you to drink it.” She smirked. “Now off with you. I see more dancing in your future. Is that plain enough?”

Sam huffed. “Clear as mud. How can I give something away if I’ve already sold it?” he muttered. Even so, he gave the fortune teller a bow once he got to his feet. “Thank you for your wise words. I’ll tell the Duke to deposit the coin.”

“Just like him. An idiot,” she mumbled as he walked out.

Stopping his pacing, Dean walked up to Sam. “What did she have to say that was so secret?” he demanded.

“That you are the rear end of a horse. But I told her I already knew that. And she told me to remind you to drop the coin in her box,” Sam said with a chuckle.

“Oh, really?” Dean leaned across Sam to drop the coins, and nuzzled Sam’s neck for a moment. “So you like kissing horses’ asses? Why am I not surprised?” Grinning, he pulled away. “Do you want to tell me over another drink or shall we be on our way?”

“Depends on whether I like the look of their tail,” Sam shot back. “Hey, you’re the one who’s been here before. Are there more adventures to be had?” he asked, his eyes wandering over the people still dancing and laughing and eating and drinking.

“You want to stay.” It was a statement. Putting his hand on Sam’s back, Dean led him back and they joined the dancers. After a few dances, Dean passed Sam over to someone else and retreated into drinking and conversation. Occasionally, his gaze would seek out Sam. It wasn’t that the strapping young man needed protection, but Dean did feel oddly protective about him.

It was some time before Sam was done. Laughing and out of breath, he raised his hands in surrender to the other dancers. “You all have the endurance of an oak tree. That’s a compliment. I, apparently, need to get in better shape to keep up with you.” His eyes searched out Dean. Spotting him over by some benches, he walked over, still trying to catch his breath, his hair practically plastered to his forehead with sweat. “Drink,” he gasped and slid into a seat next to the Duke. 

Laughing, Dean passed Sam his drink and offered him a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. “I have a feeling I’ll need to watch you closely or _you’ll_ be the one to run off with this camp.” He’d only just put his hand on Sam’s thigh, when a nod from a woman sitting in the distance and quietly eating had him lifting it. “Your chaperone just gave me a distinctly unfriendly look. She’s doing a fine job of keeping up appearances,” he noted, although he was pleased that she’d let them slip away for quite a while. They weren’t in some drawing room, so their absence would hardly be noted.

“That’s her job. She does it quite well, as I told you. I was rather surprised she got out there and danced with me a few times. This,” he gestured to the dancing, “seems out of her realm of experience, but she certainly held her own. You know, if I was interested in,” his eyes flicked to a well-endowed woman walking by, “I’d say she would be an excellent choice. However I know as I favor my own, she favors her own,” Sam said, indicating the woman was as disinterested in men as Sam was in women.

“Oh really?” Dean looked astounded, his gaze moving to the chaperone.

Sam smirked. “Yes. That’s one reason she’s always fine with playing chaperone for situations like ours. She understands.”

“So, does she have a lady love?” Dean asked, turning to Sam, then quickly wiping his face free of expression, to make sure his lover didn’t see through him. He couldn’t help it if his thoughts had gone to what two women might do with each other. 

Sam laughed at the fleeting expression he caught on Dean’s face. “Yes. She often plays her love’s lady-in-waiting. Makes it convenient for them both, it seems. You see, we had a lot of time to talk while you were away.”

“I wasn’t away _that_ long,” Dean poked him, “and I thought you’d have forgiven me for it by now.” 

Sam glanced away from Dean for a moment, then looked down at his own hands. “I don’t like it when people leave without telling me they’re leaving. It’s been the way of my life. If I don’t know they’re gone, when they return it’s in a casket. My goodbye was stolen. I also don’t like it when promises are made and then broken. Not that I begrudge the fact that you had Dukely matters to attend to. But merely shaking me half-awake, and saying you had to go, that you would make up our missed day, and saying goodbye, that is what I would have preferred. I suppose I am something of a woman about it, but too many times history has repeated itself.” He looked up and met Dean’s eyes. “So no, almost forgiven, but not one hundred percent yet. Maybe still two percent mad at you.”

“And I am not used to anyone asking where I’ve gone, let alone giving a damn.” It didn’t make sense to Dean. From what Sam had just said, it seemed Sam hadn’t simply been angry about being left to his own devices. His leaving had Sam worried on a different level. Yes, Sam had thawed toward him, that much was clear, but enough to really require a goodbye in case he never made it back? Something shifted within Dean at the thought. “I’ll make an exception for you,” he conceded. “I really was trying to be considerate, allowing you your beauty sleep.”

“I understand. But now that you know my preferences, don’t do it again or I will be mad at you for days instead of hours. And you’ll get no more around the world kisses, or swimming kisses, or honeycomb kisses or even, firework kisses.” He gave Dean a slight smile. “Besides, if I get any prettier, you’ll have to beat off the suitors.”

“It’s true. And the world can only take so much beauty.” Dean stood up and put his hand out. “Let’s head back. I’ll let Raoul know you’ll be coming to the camp tomorrow to talk to the musicians. But I warn you, if you arrive at your usual waking hours, they’re liable to hand you your hat. No earlier than mid-morning,” he said, giving Sam a look. 

Sam gave a low laugh as he accepted Dean’s hand and stood. “Of course. I suspect I’ll be staying in bed come morning. For the bed will likely be far too warm to leave so early. Though I may have to partake of the Roman bath and then return to wake you at a _decent_ hour of the morn. Mind you, you still have two percent of anger to rid me of. We’ll have to see how creative you can get at making it up to me.”

“You are a hard man to please.” Smiling, Dean walked hand in hand with Sam toward the horses, barely noticing that the chaperone also got up to head for the carriage. It was all for show anyway, and they’d be taking a different route home.

When they reached the horses, their coats were brought to them and Dean left quite a bit of coin with Raoul, more than enough to cover everyone’s meals and drinks, and for the entertainment. 

Then they were astride their horses and heading away from the camp under the moonlight. “You were going to tell me what the fortune teller said.” Dean looked over at Sam expectantly.

“No, I wasn’t,” Sam answered. “Maybe you can guess it.” He couldn’t help it. He enjoyed annoying the Duke.

Dean’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s only fair. I did tell you mine.”

Sam glanced at Dean. “Pouting isn’t very Dukely. Alright, since you did pay for the fortune, apparently to find happiness I have to find some special thing I sold and buy it back, only to give it away. Clear as mud, yes?”

“Idiot,” Dean said in the fortuneteller’s exact tone, before giving a “ha!” and taking off in a gallop, looking back only to confirm Sam was giving chase.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a long ride to Edward’s, but the scenery was beautiful, with the landscape and buildings along the road coated with fresh layers of snowfall. The snow wasn’t too deep to make the roads impassable, but just thick enough to turn everything into a wintery wonderland. Sometimes Sam sat beside Dean in the coach, and sometimes across from him. He found it hard to believe he’d only been Dean’s companion for a short time and already Dean had become a friend, and admittedly, was a very skilled lover.

They talked quite a bit during the drive, covering all sorts of topics, playing cards, and sometimes singing rowdy songs. They stayed at the finest inns along the way. Sam had never traveled north before so he practically bubbled over with questions. When they arrived, he was almost disappointed because it meant he’d have to share Dean.

Edward’s estate was quite lavish. After they were given a chance to clean up from their journey, they joined the party. Dean and Sam were announced, Sam giving his mother’s maiden name as surname. His chaperon followed them inside and quickly moved to the sidelines, joining other modestly clad chaperones. 

Seeing the Duke, Edward broke off his conversation and took the arm of a pretty young lady, bringing her with him. They both wore wide smiles. 

“Edward, you remember Samuel,” Dean said. “And Sam, this lovely young woman is Lilith. I am still trying to work out how it is that Edward bamboozled her into marrying him.”

“Everyone has a momentary lapse in judgment,” Sam said, giving the woman a deep bow and kissing her hand. “And it appears Edward is a very lucky man to have such a beautiful woman at his side.” He gave a nod to Edward and a smile.

“Oh, I like you. You’ll have to tell me about your own momentary lapse in judgment,” she laughed, looking between the two men.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m quite a prize,” Dean cut in with a straight face, despite the fact that his friends openly rolled their eyes.

“I must admit,” Sam said, “I appear to have had momentary lapses of my good sensibilities rather a lot these past few weeks. Before this prize of a rogue decided to intervene in my life, I was a man known for his good sense. Now?” He shook his head woefully.

“Why do I get the feeling that allowing you three to spend an entire week together is a big mistake, as well as terrible for my ego?” Dean asked. “I’ll have to fortify myself.”

“That is Dean’s discreet way of saying he’d like a spirit,” Sam said as if confiding a state secret to them. “And I can’t wait to hear all the stories about Dean that he won’t tell me. Of course, I’m sure he’ll tell you wild tall tales about me. All assuredly falsehoods.”

“I have no need to tell falsehoods, when the real tales are wild enough to sound like tall tales,” Dean countered.

Lilith laughed and beckoned a servant with a tray so the men could help themselves to drinks. “You’re both free to tell as many tales as you like, and we shall decide which of you is telling the truth. Come, Sam, let me introduce you to some of the others. We’ll be going sledding and to collect some greens, and then we’ll have a decorating contest. His Grace--”

“Dean,” Dean inserted.

“Dean,” she nodded, “knows most everyone. I’m sure he won’t mind if I whisk you away.”

“Just mind that you bring him back,” Dean said, with a friendly smile. He glanced at Sam to be sure Sam was in agreement.

Sam gave a slight nod before turning to Lilith. “I will give anyone here quite a challenge when it comes to decorating. My family made it quite the tradition. When is the ice skating? Sledding is wonderful but ice skating is even better!”

Edward watched Lilith walk away, her arm locked in Sam’s. “Correct me if I’m wrong old friend, but I seem to recall rather a lot of hostility in that handsome young man when you acquired him at auction. Hostility that seems to have vanished in just a few weeks.”

“I think he has warmed up to me,” Dean said, his gaze following Sam until the tall man was no longer in his line of vision. “At least partly due to necessity,” he admitted. “I know he feels wronged by me and I’m trying to find out where we’ve crossed paths. I must admit, he does not seem the sort to create imagined slightings.”

“I suppose being blunt and simply asking him is out of the question?” 

Dean gave a shake of his head.

“I see. Well, a few of the others acquired at the auction are here. Perhaps one of them knows his story? Have you been able to find out his background or is he keeping closed-mouthed about that as well?”

“He tries to come off as landed gentry, but the details he lets slip indicate he is titled, or was, if his title ran with the land he owned. I have a fortnight to find out, and I will.” Dean looked around the room. “It’s best we don’t bring up the auction. With anyone.” He took a drink, then shook his head. “He knows the purpose of the chaperone is to protect his reputation under his true name, but I think he resists because of this history between us. The name he uses,” he shrugged helplessly, “I can’t find any ties to business or otherwise.

Before they could talk further, a group of their friends joined them, demanding to know how it was that Edward had talked the Duke into participating in the activities of the season. “Edward had nothing to do with it. When you meet Sam, you’ll understand,” Dean said, with a look that signaled that Sam was an affair of the heart. Most of them laughed or joked, and only a few who knew him well looked taken aback.

* * *

Sam managed to convince Dean to join in the sledding, proclaiming Edward had the best hills ever made for such sport. They were high enough that those partaking in the activities rode horses to the top of the hills, then sledded back down. Sam’s chaperone, as it turned out, was better than just about anyone and everyone wanted her on their team when the races began. 

After a good few hours of sledding, the greens and pinecones and decorations a plenty were collected by the group. As with sledding, Sam convinced Dean to help. 

Once they were back at the manor, each group was given their own room and tree to decorate, and Sam was determined to make their room the best. He seemed to be everywhere at once, decorating, making suggestions, helping to decorate curtains and mantels and to wrap legs of tables. Time was called when dinner was ready, and judging would take place while the guests ate. 

During dinner, Dean kept threatening to go bribe the servants. After all, those below the stairs were the ones doing the judging. He had to admit, he thoroughly enjoyed getting Sam riled up. “Do I see daggers in your eyes?” he asked in a low voice, a smile curving his lips.

“No, but you’re going to have trouble stoking the fires tonight if you keep it up,” Sam said quietly, giving him a look that clearly said he wasn’t talking about the fire in the fireplace. “Lilith said Edward calls you a spoiled brat who insists on having his way and winning. When you’re not being a respectable Duke, at any rate. I told her Edward was absolutely correct.”

“You,” Dean poked Sam in the chest, “are supposed to side with me, not them. As for fires, mine are already burning for you. I wonder if I could get away with crying off early after dinner, claiming all the fresh air and exercise has done me in.”

“Don’t you know the old saying that cheaters never prosper?” Sam then tsked and shook his head. “If you’ve such a weak constitution, feel free to beg off. I, however, will be celebrating our winning the contest -- and we will win -- with mulled wine and songs and dancing. Truly a shame that you will miss the fun. I believe we’ll be playing games as well. With blindfolds.” He gave Dean a heated look. “Ah, but if you’re too tired…”

Dean’s mouth went dry. “You’re really difficult to manage,” he said, forcing himself to turn away and make conversation with the guest sitting on his other side. However, his mind was filled with images of blindfolded Sam, seeking and groping him. When he could turn back to Sam without being rude to the other guest, he quietly promised his lover, “You and I shall have a private game of blind man’s buff.”

“Uh-huh. You are incorrigible,” Sam whispered. “And insatiable. And oh-so-easy to rile and tease.” Sam slowly licked his lips as if to prove his point. “Oh, did I mention that I managed to lay hands on some honeycomb? But that it is part of your Christmas present.” Sam grinned at him. “Yes, I am evil.”

“Who do I have to bribe in order to forget the week and get right to Christmas?” The surge of excitement at the thought of what Sam might have in store for him was tempered by Dean’s sudden realization that time was passing quickly. That Christmas would mean their time together was drawing to a close. 

Sam chuckled. “It will be here before you realize it. But I’m guessing there’ll be nothing but coal in your stocking when Saint Nicholas reviews the naughty list. Trying to bribe Christmas to come faster would be a shame. There are far too many games to be played and rivers or ponds to be skated upon, too many carols to sing and sleigh rides to have. And snowmen. We must build some proper snowmen. And make sure every last bit of wassail disappears by the New Year.”

“Coal and honey, I must admit it’s an interesting, if messy combination. But I know how inventive you are, you’ll make it work.” Chuckling, Dean elbowed Sam to clue him to the fact that a woman sitting across the table was trying to capture his attention.

After dinner, instead of the men leaving to have their port, everyone gathered in the large living room. Dean was only slightly irritated when someone snapped Sam up, drawing him away. After some conversation, Edward announced that the servants had reached a decision.

First place, indeed went to Sam’s group of decorators. That lead to much merriment, and rounds of drinks. Then some of the men went to an adjoining room to play cards. Although Dean tried to escape to the card game, it didn’t take much for Sam to convince him to participate in charades. Truth to be told, Dean found himself enjoying the game and company far more than he would have enjoyed cards.

Although he’d bowed to most of Sam’s antics, Dean did refuse to play the game of blind man’s buff, preferring to instead watch and laugh at the players. Nor did he miss the look Sam gave him before slipping the scarf over his eyes when it was Sam’s turn to be ‘blind.’. Dean’s own eyes glazed over and he found himself in an entirely different mental space, the game all but forgotten.

* * *

Dean publicly bid Sam good night in the upstairs hall, where other guests were also retiring to their rooms. Moments after he entered his room and heard Sam’s door close, he opened the inner door adjoining their rooms.

One arm on the doorframe, he gave Sam a lazy smile. “My room, or yours?” he asked. 

“Yours of course. That way I have a clean bed to sleep in should we make a mess of yours. Then, if you follow me, I can accuse you of raiding my room and crawling into my bed should someone discover us sleeping together come the morning.” Sam gave him a smirk, pulled off his boots and padded over to him. “Do you know what I managed to pilfer? Reach into my waistband, along the back. There is a present for you. And no, I’m not talking below the waistband. That will be saved for later.” He wrapped his arms around Dean and gave him a light kiss. “Go on. Another present for you.”

“And here I thought I was on the ‘naughty’ list.” Dean looked intently at Sam, stealing another kiss as he reached behind him and slipped his fingers under his waistband. The silky feel of the material had him laughing against Sam’s lips, before he drew his head up to confirm he’d guessed correctly. “You pilfered the blindfold!”

Unfurling it, Dean immediately folded it into quarters and tied it over Sam’s eyes. “Undress yourself and me, like this,” he demanded, his voice thick and raspy as his imaginings of earlier that night became a reality. He slowly tugged Sam deeper into his room, spun him around a few times, and let him go.

“It must be equal,” Sam said, holding his hands out as he moved slowly about the room. “First, my belt.” Sam pulled on the leather, loosening the buckle, then tugged the belt off and tossed it. “Now, I must find you and take off your belt before I remove another article of my clothing. But when I catch you, I will also have to take off your shoes.” He heard Dean move and lunged for him, his fingers just barely brushing over fabric. “Almost caught you!”

Sam stood perfectly still, listening intently, his eyes closed beneath the blindfold. With a sudden well-aimed rush, he caught Dean, pulling him close and giving him a steamy kiss. “Now stand still so I can remove your belt and then we move to the chair to remove your shoes. I might even, if you’re very, very well behaved, kiss the soles of your feet, my foot-fetished Duke.”

“If there are kisses like this one ahead, rest assured I won’t be far out of your reach,” Dean panted, biting his lower lip as Sam fumbled with his belt. He swallowed audibly, swaying toward Sam and kissing his neck as Sam bent over slightly. He could smell the sweetcakes on Sam’s breath and barely fought back the urge to kiss, and taste him again.

“Always the sweet talker, aren’t you?” Sam teased, nipping the side of Dean’s neck as he let Dean’s belt fall away. He began to walk backwards, letting Dean guide him towards the chair. When the back of his legs struck it, he whirled Dean around and gave a light push to make him sit. He knelt in front of Dean and slowly undid the laces then pulled off his shoes. Before he stood back up, he pulled off Dean’s socks, giving a tender kiss to the insole of Dean’s right foot. “And what bit of clothing is next? My cravat? Or shall I unbutton my shirt?”

“You know how much I like that,” Dean practically growled, reaching for Sam’s shirt, and hooking a finger between the buttons. “Shirt. And don’t be too efficient,” he pleaded, his gaze moving between Sam’s hands and his face.

“Then you will have to explain it to the tailor,” Sam said and stepped back. He slowly unbuttoned the first two buttons at the bottom of the shirt, then gripped the fabric and tugged hard. Buttons ricocheted against the walls, a painting, into a curtain, and one even hit the screen of the fireplace. Sam let the shirt’s fabric fall from his hands, the shirt now splayed open. “Like that?” he asked, showing his dimples as he smiled. 

Dean had tossed his head back and watched through heavy lidded eyes. “Mmm, love that,” he admitted thickly, his gaze focused on the sliver of skin showing between the flaps of Sam’s shirt. “I think it’s the maids you’ll have to do the explaining to, what with the buttons all over the place.”

Dean crooked his finger, “C’mere.” Slowly getting up, he moved to sit on the bed, and repeated himself, smiling when Sam whirled around, his shirt flaring around him.

“I thought I had to catch you and disrobe you. That sounds like a much more serious invitation, because I think I heard the bed creak. And the buttons are in your room, so you’ll have to do the explaining. I’m totally and completely innocent.” He walked slowly towards Dean, knowing full well that they were most likely at the end of blind man’s buff game, but he had the sneaking suspicion that he’d be wearing the blindfold for a while yet.

“Come catch me, then.” Dean moved over a little. “Come on, are you waiting to catch a chill?” Backing up over the mattress, he repositioned himself again, smiling as Sam made his way towards him with his hands stretched out.

“Still on the mattress. I can hear it,” Sam said, reaching the end of the bed and moving around to the other side. Putting one hand down on the quilt, he swept the air with his other hand, hunting for Dean. 

“Right here.” Dean’s velvety voice taunted, although he stopped moving around. He’d leaned back on his elbows and was watching Sam, “a little to the left, and lower.”

“I think you’re missing the concept of blind man’s buff,” Sam said, but followed Dean’s directions, lowering his hand and finding Dean’s firm abs under his touch. “You need to talk to the maid. Washboards shouldn’t be left in the bed.” He slid his hand down, giving Dean a gratuitous grope before settling onto the bed. Then he began to work on opening of Dean’s trousers.

Dean gave a soft sound of pleasure, and looked down, watching Sam. “Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse? I thought you were going to open my shirt up,” he said. It wasn’t a complaint, not at all. “Sam,” he hissed, when Sam touched him again, sending a jolt of heat right through him.

Sam smirked. “You’re the one who said ‘lower’.” He slowly crawled on top of Dean, straddling his thighs. “You’re absolutely right. I should take your shirt off first.” He leaned in and used his teeth to tug the shirt free of Dean’s pants. He then began to undo the buttons one at a time using only his mouth

“I think I’m beginning to like games. Blind man’s buff, eh?” A soft sigh escaped Dean, his eyes closing as Sam’s warm lips made contact with his skin. Heat washed over him, his muscles tightening. “Kiss me,” he whispered, wanting Sam’s mouth on his.

“I think my contrariness has rubbed off on you,” Sam said. “First it is lower, then I am to disrobe you to free you of your shirt after I’ve already started on your pants, and now, you want my lips on yours. You are truly a difficult man to please.” Sam reached up and pushed the blindfold up so he could see Dean.

Dean looked flushed, his eyes smoldering, his muscles flexing ever so slightly. His lips shone in the firelight, parted, the tip of his tongue slipping out to wet his lips again. His hair was mussed and his cheekbones seemed to catch the light. Sam’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. The man was beautiful. And the man wanted him. Sam’s breath caught for a moment, and he froze, just staring at the Adonis laying in the bed beneath him. Leaning slowly in, he tilted his head, slanting his lips over Dean’s as heat lanced through him in a way it never had before.

Dean’s protest about Sam cheating died on his lips. The moment stretched, and then he had what he wanted. Sam was kissing him, his mouth moving over his own, and their tongues tangling. Dean closed his arms around Sam, running one hand up and down his back, and the other over his ass, molding him close. It hadn’t only been a good day. It had been a great… a wonderful day, and it was because of Sam’s presence. He seemed to bring a peace to Dean’s soul, even as he easily set him on fire with his heated looks, and inventive kisses. 

Groaning, Dean rolled them over, looking down at Sam. “My turn to search for you,” he whispered, wondering how something as simple as a scarf over his lover’s eyes could affect him this way. Slowly, he brought his mouth down here and there, at the corner of Sam’s mouth, along his neck, and chest. “You cannot imagine how beautiful you are to me,” he said, between kisses, and nibbles and long licks of his tongue tracing Sam’s chiseled muscles.

“I-I think I can,” Sam whispered. “For tonight I saw you. I saw how you wanted me. I saw your beauty. Earlier in the day I saw a kind and gentle man who sometimes hides behind gruffness so his true nature is not found out. I saw a man who wants to laugh, to live, but sometimes seems to have forgotten the joys of the world. Of snowball fights and sledding races, and decorating for Christmas and charades. A Duke, swinging his arm at his nose, hunched over, making a fool of himself to try to convey the word elephant.” Sam smiled at the memory. “I think I was wrong about you. And I am truly happy to be here with you now. I want nothing more than to make love with you.” Sam tugged Dean up so they could kiss, kissing him slowly, lovingly, and feeling the last of his resentments melt away. Once the month was over, he would discuss with Dean his lost estate and he believed, whatever the outcome, it would be a fair and just decision.

Sam’s words made Dean happier than he could imagine. He didn’t think on the reasons, but he allowed Sam to draw him into the moment. To make love with him the way they both wanted. As they kissed, he took care of stripping the last of their clothes off. Refusing to allow Sam to take the scarf off, he slid it back down over his eyes and he made certain to touch him in new places, in different and unexpected ways. Sometimes he would pay attention to his nipples. Sometimes he would drag his teeth lightly across Sam’s abs. Sometimes he’d kiss his inner thigh, or straddle him and drag his lips across the tip of Sam’s cock. He’d lick his way across Sam’s stomach, letting his wet tongue sweep over Sam’s erection in the process, or he’d bring his mouth close and let him feel his hot breaths skimming over his skin.

Sam kissed and touched whatever parts Dean gave him access to, intentionally or unintentionally. Dean had him groaning in pleasure, hissing in complaint, writhing and jumping at unexpected touches. His cock was heavy and thick and dripping and his balls were full and tight. 

“Nghh, Dean,” he cried softly. “You’re killing me. Bring me off before I can’t hold it back anymore.

“Soon,” Dean promised, moving down the bed. He shoved a pillow under Sam’s ass, parted his legs, and then his ass cheeks. This wasn’t something he’d ever done before, but he felt compelled to with Sam. He brushed his lips over Sam’s swollen balls, then moved lower, spearing his wet tongue inside Sam’s hole. In a few minutes, he would take Sam, right here, with his eyes still covered. He would have him writhing under him. But first, he showed him what was to come, moving his tongue in and out of him at an ever quickening pace.

Sam’s moans grew in volume as he felt Dean at his hole, as he felt Dean’s tongue move in and out of him. He clawed at the bed, his head tossing this way and that as he pushed back against the delicious feelings coiling inside of him. Curses and compliments fell from his lips in equal portion as he begged Dean not to stop and next begging him to finish him.

As Sam’s thrashing and pleas grew more urgent, Dean pulled back. Reaching for the dollop of butter on the nightstand, he pushed up onto his knees and started to stroke himself, lubricating his hard cock. “Want you so badly,” he whispered in a strained voice, knowing Sam could feel the jerky motions of his hand as he prepared himself. “Want to be inside you. Want you like I’ve never wanted anyone else. Ever.”

“I want to give myself to you in ways I’ve never given myself to anyone. Whatever else happens, this night is special to me. I’ll never forget it. And I want you inside me so badly right now--will you stop fucking your hand already? Fuck me instead. You’re lubed enough. I’m not a virgin to lovemaking even if you are hung like a horse.” Though his words were teasing, though at the end, Sam’s growing desperation was obvious.

“You’re impossibly impatient,” Dean growled, though he wasn’t in the least bit displeased. Kneeling, he straddled Sam’s legs and placed one hand on the mattress for balance. Leaning in, he guided his tip to Sam’s hole, nudging at it, groaning when he felt it quiver. “Relax for me,” he whispered, then started to slowly push himself inside.

“You are the one without patience,” Sam said, biting his lower lip as he felt Dean’s cock finally at his hole. Relax…relax….relax. He focus on that as Dean began to enter him. He gave a soft grunt as his muscles were stretched. “Fuuckkk,” he hissed, letting out something of a sigh of relief when Dean’s crown was securely inside him. “I take it back. Hung like an elephant.”

“How many more animals do you expect to compare me with by the time we’re done tonight?” As he spoke, Dean steadily pushed deeper, biting his lips in both pleasure and agony. “You may not be a virgin but you’re as tight as one.” His hips finally slotted against Sam’s firm ass, and he was inside as deeply as he could go. He didn’t pull out or push in, but he pulsed, his head rearing back at the sheer pleasure that small movement brought.

“As many as are...ungh...appropriate. Give me...a moment...to relax...to feel you,” Sam gasped out, holding one of his hands out for Dean to take. He gave small clenches to the muscles wrapped around Dean’s cock, getting the muscles to relax more and more each time. “Kiss me,” he demanded.

Putting his hand over Sam’s, Dean threaded his fingers through Sam’s, both of them curling their fingers. He yearned for the kiss as much as Sam did, although each time Sam squeezed his inner muscles, Dean had to fight to prevent himself from reacting. Stretching closer, he kissed the corner of Sam’s mouth, then slanted his mouth over it and pushed his tongue inside, twisting it around Sam’s. If he couldn’t take him just yet, he would give him a tongue fucking that showed him how much he needed Sam.

Dean’s kiss was perfect, as it always was. Dean’s hot breaths washed over his face every time Dean pulled back to catch a fresh breath. Their tongues danced with each other and the more Sam became lost in Dean’s kisses, the more his body relaxed and accepted Dean’s member. Smiling, giving Dean some quick but intense kisses, he gave a nod. “Now. I’m good. I’m ready.”

Dean had tried to hide his own desperation, but Sam’s declaration drew an ache-filled “thank God,” from Dean. Lifting slightly, he ground his hips in circles until Sam was moving with him. “Perfect,” he rasped, brushing his lips across Sam’s shoulder blade, a bead of sweat dripping down from his forehead from the strain of keeping a tight rein on his control. “Perfect, for me,” he repeated, slowly drawing party out, then pushing back inside with a low grunt. 

Leaning in once more, he moved his mouth over Sam’s ear. “Ever seen a stallion mount a mare?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer, he started to pump his hips, slowly gaining momentum, moving faster and deeper, each thrust of his hips increasing the growing tension in his loins. He suddenly pushed his arm under Sam, closing it around his waist, and pulling him up and back with him. Separating, he had Sam get on all fours, then started to take him from behind. Now Dean could touch Sam all over, and he did, moving his hand over Sam’s chest, sometimes just gripping him tight, but always thrusting, always pushing them a little harder. 

Finally, he closed his fist around Sam’s cock, and squeezed him. “So hard, so hard Sammy,” he whispered, moving his fist faster to match the movements of his hips. 

Sam wanted to protest he was no damned mare to be mounted but the way Dean moved inside him, the way his hands brushed over Sam, kept Sam too distracted to vocalize his annoyance over analogy. Dean played his body the way Sam played the musical instruments he loved. With near perfection. He was desperately pushing back against Dean, making sounds of pleasure, and giving soft cries and muffled or incoherent words. 

When Dean gripped him, Sam gave a sharp cry. His hips beginning to thrust of their own accord, Dean’s motions directing his own. He didn’t beg to come. He didn’t want it to end. A perfect memory for a really good day.

“That’s it, Sam, that’s it,” Dean crooned, angling his hips so the next time Sam pushed back against him, his cock found Sam’s prostate. He held still for a moment, knowing Sam would feel compelled to push back harder and harder, taking his own pleasure. Sam’s rough, jerky motions, the way he strained to take him in, it sent fire racing through Dean. Made him ache for release, a release that he knew they both would fight to keep at bay.

Sam didn’t think it could get any better, but then Dean proved him wrong. Any hope of keeping quiet was lost. Dean was, without argument, the best lover he’d ever had the pleasure of bedding. He let the fire racing through his veins and carry him where it would. Flashes behind his eyelids, a near dizziness from forgetting to breathe. It was amazing, almost magical if he were to be fanciful. Then he felt it. His balls, already full and tight, began to tighten, twist and spasm. He pumped Dean harder and faster. “I’m coming. Now Dean, now!”

“Now!” Dean growled in agreement, nipping Sam’s neck as he ground into him, burying himself deep. Once, twice, and then he was coming, and shouting Sam’s name, pressing his mouth over Sam’s shoulder to muffle his shouts. Even after Sam’s cum coated his hand, and he’d emptied himself inside Sam, Dean kept moving, milking the moment, wanting it to last, and making sure it was etched into his memory for all time.

Sam moved slower and slower until he finally collapsed forward, not caring that warm spunk covered the bed. “That was--you are most assuredly king of the bedroom,” Sam said, pulling the scarf up and off his eyes. “I trust I was at least princely in performance? Damn, I think I’m actually going to have sore muscles come the morrow.

Collapsing on top of Sam, Dean gave him a sloppy kiss. “It’s all that sledding, and snowball throwing,” he said, smiling against Sam’s shoulder. “We could spend the day in bed. You could have the head cold.”

“Bite your tongue. I’ve never been to such a party as this and I intend to enjoy every moment of it. Both in and out of bed. But for the moment, you’ve worn me out. Though I promise you, you will rise early on the morrow to make the day last even longer and what a truly grand day it will be, I’m sure of it!” Sam said happily, reaching for some blankets to pull over them. 

Rolling next to Sam, and closing an arm around him, Dean growled against his ear. “After I rouse you a few more times, I’m certain waking up early will be the last thing on your mind. You’ll be the last to breakfast for once.”

“Okay, if you don’t want a good morning surprise to wake to, I’ll let you sleep in,” Sam teased, snuggling back against Dean and closing his eyes.

Dean’s only answer was the sudden tightening of his grip on Sam.

* * *

The next two days flew by. As much as Dean claimed he would stay back and play cards, or go to the local club, somehow he allowed himself to be dragged into the games and merrymaking that he protested were for children. 

They had just come off the ice, and Dean had sat down on one of the benches and gotten his skates off, when a very good friend of his showed up. “Charles!” Quickly stuffing his feet into his boots, and shooing his valet away before the man could polish it up for him, Dean gave his friend a hug. “Sam, this is Charles, Marquis of Castiel. And his lovely bride, Henrietta. And these two, good Lord, they grow!”

“Margaret and George, and yes they do grow.” Henrietta gave a nod, letting her children take to the ice. “You’ve taken your skates off already,” she said disappointedly. “Then I must commandeer Samuel for a few turns. Charles injured his leg,” she said, giving Sam a brilliant, if perhaps not a little too familiar a smile. 

Sam gave her a curious look. He didn’t immediately recognize her as someone he knew or had recently met. “I would be honored to skate with you, Henrietta,” he said, giving her a proper bow. “While Dean is a decent skater, I’m not certain he’s as big a fan of the ice as I am. Either that or he’s irritated he loses to me in all the skating races when we compete against each other.” He smirked at Dean.

“Go. Off with both of you,” Dean said, watching as they headed for the ice, before slapping Charles on the back and peppering him with questions about his injuries. 

* 

“You’ve really drawn him out,” Henrietta said as they stepped onto the ice, Sam’s arm wrapping lightly around her waist as they made their way weaving between the other skaters. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen that man on ice until today. I do believe you have done the undoable, you’ve captured him,” she declared,

“From what I know of his childhood, it was very hard for him to get out and just be a kid. So as a man, he doesn’t know how to enjoy the lighter things in life. I’ve heard the servants repeatedly comment that he is often smiling now.” Sam swept her out across the ice, making sure she was talented enough on skates to be somewhat daring. “What do you mean captured?”

“Wheee!” she called out, glad to have found a competent partner. After he’d whirled her around, her skirt billowing around her ankles, she gave him a look. “Come now, you know what I mean. Charles and I may have arrived late to the party, but I was watching you on the ice, and even now. That man has eyes on no one but you,” she pointed out. “He’s quite besotted, isn’t he?”

Sam glanced over at Dean and saw Dean give him a wave. He waved back. “I think he just likes the company for a change. And someone who will challenge him, and make him be a bit childish now and again.”

“You mean a partner? Exactly so,” she a said, like she’d won the argument.

“I don’t think he’s looking for anything permanent,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “Besides, while I do like the man quite a lot, because of how we met, there is history that would make such a thing near impossible.”

“Ah, the auction.” She registered the shock on Sam’s face just in time to keep her balance when he made a misstep. Giggling, she didn’t allow him to glide away. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe. I only know because Charles knows and-- are you sure you won’t trip again if I let you in on a secret?” Giving an irrepressible smile, she told him anyway. “Eight years ago, I was on the auction stand. Believe me, I did not expect Charles to marry me after that introduction.”

“You?” Sam said, surprised. “May I ask how you came to be there? If not, I understand,” he said quietly, gliding them away from others who might otherwise overhear snatches of their conversation.

“My father passed away suddenly and his property passed to,” she made a face, “a distant cousin, unimaginably vile. If I was to stay in the home I grew up in, he expected certain privileges. I tried to apply for governess positions but I was told I didn’t look right for the part. And then someone at the employment agency told me about the auction, for people of my background and circumstance.”

She was quiet for a moment, then smiling as her son whizzed by them. She looked up at Sam. “I thought to myself, I could either service my cousin until he had no use for me, or I could service a stranger for a limited time and secure a future that didn’t involve starvation.”

“And instead, you found love. That is truly wonderful. You are a very lucky woman,” Sam said, watching the boy go by. “My father passed suddenly as well. It is difficult at times to be in a stranger’s arms for my first holiday without family. Did you find that as well?”

“It was difficult,” she nodded. “But it had been bleak and rather scary at home, after my father’s death. At least I had a choice in this, and Charles kept me occupied. Of course I know I might not have fared as well with some of the other bidders.” 

She took Sam’s hands and moved in front of him, so they could spin in circles, laughing at her children’s calls. When they slowed and started to skate in unison again, she gave a soft laugh. “I do believe there are others wanting our attention.” She wasn’t speaking only of her own children, but Dean, who stood there with two cups of steaming liquid looking straight at Sam.

“He is utterly incorrigible and jealous,” Sam laughed and with a bit of final flair out on the ice, guided them both to where husband and his lover waited.

* * *

Christmas Eve was an almost all night affair, even though Edward had far fewer houseguests. Many had predictably gone to their own homes, or to be with close relatives. 

Come morning, Dean grumbled about getting up early. He knew there were children to consider. Children who would be pestering their parents to allow them to go to the large salon, and to open their presents. 

“Breakfast at 6:30, this is very uncivilized,” Dean announced in his stuffiest Duke voice, as they ate. 

“We could have gotten up when the servants did, at four. I’m sure they’ll be very glad for boxing day on the morrow when they can actually sleep in themselves until 6:30,” Sam said, chuckling at Dean’s tone of voice. “And you are very bad at sounding like a gruff Duke this morn. Besides, I know for a fact there are a few presents under the tree for you. Though they are all likely boxes filled with coal.” Sam drank some of his juice, his eyes alight with laughter.

“Coal?” Dean shoved his finger against Sam’s chest and gave him a mock glare. “If I have a few lumps, then surely there is an entire sack full of coal with your name on it.”

From across the table, Henrietta smiled, then turned to her husband and whispered in his ear.

“Perhaps I asked St Nicholas to bring me a large bag of it so I might burn it to keep away the winter chill. It would certainly have nothing to do with my behavior because I have been a perfect model of good incarnate,” Sam tossed back. Seeing Dean had already eaten all of his own bacon, Sam discreetly slid a few pieces from his plate onto Dean’s.

“You were good. Very good last night, I’ll give you that,” Dean whispered into Sam’s ear, before turning his attention to the bacon. “What I wouldn’t do for one of chef’s apple pies.”

“Mayhap one is waiting for you under the tree,” Sam said, giving Dean a knowing smile, though his cheeks flushed a light pink at the whispered compliments from Dean.

“Come, share the joke,” Edward called out from the head of the table, a knowing look in his eyes.

Dean elbowed Sam when he noticed Sam was innocently looking at him, waiting with baited breath to see what he’d have to say, along with the rest of them. 

“It would be a bit too vulgar for mixed company. You know how the Duke can be,” Sam said, pleased the lie slid off his tongue so easily.

“Coal.” Dean pointed at Sam. “That’s all I’m saying. Coal.” 

There was plenty of laughter, and some of the parents started to get up under pressure from their children.

“In our day, we didn’t lead our parents around by the nose, eh, Dean?” Edward asked, as he got up.

“No. We didn’t.” Dean found himself smiling, “but I have a feeling there were those amongst us who did.” Hand on Sam’s back, he indicated they should get up.

Sam made a face. “You’ll have so much coal you’ll need a separate carriage to take it home,” Sam murmured to Dean. He gave a smile and nod to his chaperone. He had made certain there were a few small gifts waiting for her under the tree too.

It took a good quarter of an hour before everyone was assembled in the salon, with the children sitting on the floor, close the large tree. 

“Next year, our little one will be there,” Edward said, pointing to the children.

“What, you have a bun in the oven?” Dean immediately congratulated his friends. 

Sam gave his congratulations as well. The servants began to pass out the presents, starting with the children first. Sam laughed and smiled as the children unwrapped their gifts, sometimes elbowing Dean, telling him he had such a toy when young or asking Dean if he’d ever seen some of the more extravagant toys.

“Your Grace.”

Dean had to be called twice, before he looked to see that one of the presents was for him. Accepting it, he squeezed the paper. “Definitely not coal.” Leaning toward Sam, he whispered, “it feels like a silk cord, do you know anything about this?”

“As if I would give you such a present in the presence of everyone,” Sam said. “And although that’s for you, it’s not really for you,” he said, grinning at the puzzled look that crossed Dean’s face.

“Ever the mystery.” Giving a slow grin, Dean opened the present, finding a fine leather halter for his horse. It was emblazoned with Zeus’ name on it. “Meant for your favorite stallion.” Smirking, Dean almost kissed Sam, but the polite cough from his chaperone stopped him. “She’s very alert, that one, even at this atrocious time of the morning.” 

“Yes, she is,” Sam agreed, having started to lean forward to accept the kiss and brought himself up short, feeling a bit cheated. He accepted a gift that was in an oblong box. “This does not feel like coal either.”

“There must be a mistake, then.” Dean looked absolutely convinced, as he watched Sam handle it.

Sam slowly opened the paper with great reverence, knowing it would drive the impatient Duke crazy. He glanced up to see the anxiousness and annoyance on Dean’s face. He finally caved and finished ripping the paper off and and found a scroll, which he carefully unrolled. “A treasure map!” Sam exclaimed delightedly, easily recognizing Dean’s estate. In some cases there were ‘x’s and in other locations there were riddles to be solved or puzzles to work out.

It was his turn to get coughed at as he almost hugged Dean. Instead he turned it into a slap on the back. “I love it. Thank you. Oh, open that one next,” Same said pointing to a box. “And handle it gently. No shaking it.” 

“Wait, aren’t you going to yell at me? Think of the wait, man! You have a scroll, but it will be two long days before you can go treasure hunting,” Dean said, exasperated that his gift hadn’t partially annoyed Sam. Perhaps Sam was right, he was the impatient one.

“Don’t you listen to me? I told you, anticipation of the adventure is often better than the actual adventure. And you are going to have to listen to endless theories from me of what some of the puzzles or riddles are. You will be exasperated with me by the time we get back, to the point you’ll be ready to stuff my mouth with a kerchief just to shut me up.” He was grinning even more as Dean opened his present.

“Oh, I’ll stuff your mouth with something.” Dean started to smirk, but as he revealed the present, his eyes widened. He quickly closed the box top before anyone else got a look at the pie. “Is it from home? Or did you wake up at four and help or arm-twist Edward’s cook into making it? If you’d warned me, I wouldn’t have had so much breakfast.” 

“Made here, but made with chef’s recipe. And if I’d warned you, it wouldn’t have been a surprise, would it?” Sam said, pleased Dean was as delighted by the present as he’d hoped he’d be.

“Now I can’t wait for tea time. In our room,” Dean added, making sure there was no question of sharing the pie with others. He set the box down next to him, then caught himself laughing at two children fighting over a box. Or rather, laughing at their parents’ predicament. “I’ll bet you were just like that, unruly, insistent, and loud,” he said.

“Unruly, probably. Sometimes insistent, occasionally loud. What child isn’t? But I had no siblings with whom I had to share, or I imagine petulant would probably be added to the list.” He waved to a servant and pointed at a rather large box, then pointed to Dean.

“Sam, how many?” Dean asked. Although Sam had an allowance for the month of December, Dean didn’t expect him to spend any of it on him. Still, the look in Sam’s eyes had Dean smiling. “You’re up to something.” 

“Come on man, open it up,” Edward yelled out.

Dean quickly opened the box and raised an eyebrow. Inside was another box. “I get it, it’s an illustration of your whole ‘you can’t judge a book by the cover’ discussion,” he hazarded, frowning when yet another box was nested in the one he’d found. There were snickers and laughter and people guessing how many more boxes there were, and one or two men were actually wagering.

Finally, Dean reached a small, one inch square box and looked at Sam. He shook it. “Is it treasure?”

“It’s a remembrance. You’ll have to judge if it’s a treasure or not. And I was just trying to make up for all the years you didn’t have lots of presents to open.” He smiled at Dean, hoping he’d like it. He’d had it specially made for the man.

Dean locked gazes with Sam and reached out, running his knuckles over his face and giving a nod, the cough from the chaperone be damned. Then he opened the final box, pulling out a silver chain. Hanging from it was a silver pendant onyx carved in the shape of-- His eyes snapped up. “Is that a lump of coal, Samuel?” he demanded, “Oh, if we were alone--you know how ticklish you are,” he whispered, lifting the pendant and inspecting it closely. “It’s treasure,” he declared, even though others were pointing out it was simply what he deserved, coal.

A few moments later, a servant brought a small envelope to Sam. His name was written in Dean’s distinctive bold handwriting. 

Sam eyed Dean suspiciously. “A letter from the London museum saying the flooring we found was fake? Perhaps passage on a ship to Africa so you can be rid of me once and for all? Or perhaps the recipe to that wonderful stew your cook makes!” Sam guessed. 

Dean gave him nothing but shrugs. 

Licking his lips, Sam carefully opened it and pulled out the letter inside. His mouth fell open and he gasped. “Jericho is mine?” This time he did hug Dean. “Thank you, Dean!” Pulling away he waved the sheet of paper around. “Jericho is a fine stallion in Dean’s stable,” he explained. “He’s a bit high spirited, but we get along very well. We’ve even beaten Dean and Zeus in a race now and then.” Looking back at Dean he was still grinning. “This goes above and beyond. I will take excellent care of Jericho, I promise you.”

“I know. And Jericho will take excellent care of you,” Dean answered, feeling extraordinarily happy, both at how pleased Sam was, and at the impromptu hug. Chaperone be damned.

* * *

Sam hugged Edward and his wife, and gave his good wishes for the child they’d bring into the world by this time next year. Then he climbed into the carriage Dean had sent for him. He smiled and waved, then settled in for the long ride alone. 

On Boxing Day, Dean had been called away on some business that he apparently couldn’t put off. He’d promised to be back before New Year’s, but he hadn’t made it. 

Sam sighed and fiddled with a silk scarf the Gypsies had given him. All those days that he and Dean were to have been together… for as much as he’d hated Dean a mere month prior, now he missed him and wished he’d known then what he knew now. He was also certain that Dean was not a cruel or unreasonable man. Sam could only assume his father had been in greater debt to Dean than Sam had been made aware of. He could speak to Dean about it, but it would be awkward for both of them. Best it just be forgotten. He knew Dean would look after the estate and the people there. And Sam could simply move on. With Jericho, he could do some traveling. Every place he went, he would send Dean descriptions and letters about it. Perhaps Dean couldn’t travel for long periods of time, but Sam could be his eyes and ears.

Picking up the scroll Dean had given him, he shook his head. A treasure map that would never be solved. It was a crime that Dean had put such work into it, and now Sam wasn’t going to be able to explore it, to solve the puzzles and riddles and see what sort of ridiculous treasure Dean had the servants bury for him to find. 

It was a New Year. He should be happy. He would soon have his gold for staying with Dean. Maybe he could offer to make up for the days Dean was away. Even if the chaperone was gone, who cared? If Sam was going on the road, it didn’t matter if everyone knew he was with Dean.

With Dean.

God, he wished.

***

Sam had slept fitfully in the carriage and it was dark, but he felt the carriage turn off the road. “Are we finally at the inn?” Sam called up to the driver.

“Nay, sir. We’re stopping at one of the Duke’s holdings for the night. It is closer than the inn and the horses need rest. The roads have been hard on them.”

Sam didn’t argue. The carriage had gotten stuck twice, so he had no doubt the horses were tired and ready for their feed. Looking out the window, even in the dark shadows, the snow reflected light and Sam’s eyes widened. “Is this the Wesson estate?” he demanded. He knew it was, of course. If the horses weren’t so tired and the hour already growing late, he would have demanded they travel on to the inn. This was the last place he wanted to be with the Duke. 

“Aye, Sir. Don’t worry, they’re expecting you.” The carriage came to a stop, and then the attendant opened the door and motioned for Sam to alight into the courtyard.

The front door opened, and several servants bustled out. A few of them exclaimed and ran to Sam in unseemly haste, several of them hugging him. Dean stood at the door, just outside, concealed by shadows.

Sam found tears on his face at seeing everyone again. He told himself it would be easier to leave this time, but he doubted it. He hugged everyone back as enthusiastically as they hugged him, station be damned. They were family. And like family, everyone seemed to be talking at once.

“I’m not leaving til morning. Sampson, the horses have had a hard day, see to their welfare. The coach driver as well. He is surely hungry, cold, and bone-tired. I want to hear all the news, but not all at once. Yes, yes, I know about the fire. And I hear you decorated the house so as to make my father proud.” He shooed them back through the doorway and out of the wind, making certain the driver was being led to dinner and that the horses were being looked after. He ran his fingers through his hair and gave a long sigh, steeling himself for his brief return to what had once been his home.

As soon as Sam climbed the stairs to the front door, Dean moved out of the shadows. “Good evening, Lord Wesson,” he said in a low voice. There was a slight curvature of his mouth, but otherwise, he looked quite serious.

Sam stepped back, almost falling down the stairs. “Dean!” he exclaimed, ready to rush forward, but then Dean’s words sank in. He schooled his features and gave Dean a bow. “Your Grace. That honorific is no longer appropriate for me, as well you know. I did not expect to see you until I reached the Winchester Estate.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t lose your title, and you well know it.” He looked Sam up and down. He’d missed the man so damned much, and it had only been but a week. “I don’t suppose you’d look kindly on me if I took you into my arms here,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Sam said softly. “I would find it acceptable.”

Dean was surprised. “I thought you--” Instead of arguing about Sam having said he was in the habit of being discreet about his preferences, Dean took a step forward, closed his arms around his lover, and kissed him. He’d intended a quick brush of his lips over Sam’s, but his good intentions fell away. He kissed Sam with all the hunger in his heart, all the need, all the feelings he’d discovered while alone and away from the man who’d brought both peace and joy to him.

Sam kissed Dean back hungrily, pulling him close. How ironic that he lost his beloved home to a man who was now more important to his heart than the land they now stood on. To lose both, it seemed more than cruel.

When they broke for air, Sam stepped back slightly. “I thought I might--it seems wrong for you to be cheated of this past week because of business. I thought you might be amenable to me completing my contract. We don’t need the chaperone. She served her purpose.” Sam eyed Dean, unsure if the offer was even a good idea. It would only make it that much harder to leave Dean.

“I have a feeling we won’t need a chaperone for entirely other reasons, but, I’m not counting my chickens before the eggs hatch.” Dean kissed him once more, before tugging him into the parlor. Although the servants were trying to gather, to get a glimpse of Sam, one sharp look from Dean sent them scurrying. “I did not say a thing,” he said, holding his hands up in defense. “Now why don’t we go warm you up in the study. I’ve already had a light dinner brought in for you.”

“You know, I rarely ate desserts before I came to stay at your estate. Now I find even a light meal seems incomplete without something sweet to follow it.” He took Dean’s hand and led him toward the study. “The servants are all aware of my proclivities and will keep silent about yours. Just so you know.”

“My proclivities are not a secret,” Dean answered, squeezing Sam’s hand. “And I promise, there is plenty of dessert. Even if I may have stolen a morsel or two from your dessert plate.” A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He wasn’t lying, and the empty spaces on the plate would give him away.

As they walked down the hall, Dean stopped Sam in front of a portrait of a tall, handsome man, surrounded by his hunting dogs. “I don’t know how I missed this, the family resemblance,” he said, nodding toward Sam’s ancestor. “Had I noticed the portrait sooner, I would have known immediately.” 

Giving a gentle tug, he headed for the comfortable study. A covered bowl of soup, and a platter of cold meats and bread, sat on the side table, as well as the dessert plate. A pot of tea had been set up, although Dean had told the servants that they would pour it themselves.

“I can tell this room has had more use than any of the others. It is very much you,” Dean said, leading him to the sofa, and sitting down next to him. “It feels light, and happy, and full of curiosities. And handsome. Is it alright to call a room handsome?” he teased, his eyes only on Sam, the rest of the room be damned.

“I think it is entirely appropriate to call a room handsome,” Sam said with a smile. “Especially if it well reflects the heart and soul of the one who used it most often.” Sam reached out and cupped Dean’s cheek with his palm. “I find my hunger for food is less than my hunger for you,” he whispered. “Why don’t we retire to my--to a near-by bedroom. You didn’t answer if you would like for me to complete my contract. I feel I do owe you that. And I might have missed you. Just a little.” Sam glanced down a moment, then looked back up to meet Dean’s gaze. “Perhaps even, quite a lot.”

“A week?” Dean asked, heat burning in his eyes. By all rights, Sam was free of his contract. “You would spend another week with me?”

Sam nodded and gave a one shouldered shrug. “It doesn’t seem just, for you to lose the last week because you were called away on business. And I might not have been the best of companions that first week or so. I don’t want you to feel cheated.”

“I see.” Dean licked his lips and taking Sam’s hand, moved off the sofa to kneel in front of him. “What about an eternity? Sam Wesson, will you join your life with mine, stay with me for the rest of our lives. If you say ‘yes,’ I promise to do everything in my power to make you happy, because that is exactly what you’ve done for me. Brought happiness into my life. Made me understand how barren it was before you,” he said thickly, his eyes locked with Sam’s.

Sam stared at Dean, Henrietta’s words coming back to him about how Dean was in love with him. “Before,” he took a deep breath, “before I give you my answer, I must know one thing. Why did you take my estate from me when I promised I would make good on my father’s debts to you, when I sent you money toward that debt? Was his debt greater than I knew?” There was no anger in his eyes. If Dean said it was simply business, he would understand, but he would have to think long and hard if he could accept that facet of the man.

Sam hadn’t forgiven him for that, perhaps he never would. The realization caught Dean off guard, not because it was an outlandish idea, but because they’d grown so close over the weeks and he hadn’t sensed any resentment from Sam for so long. 

“Sam, I never received anything from you. I sent inquiries that went unresponded to. Your man, accountant, he kept the funds you intended to send in payment of your debt. Remember, I told you there were irregularities in the Wesson ledgers?” Dean licked his lips. “The man had been cheating your father, and then you. You’d made some investments?” He waited for Sam’s nod. “They paid off, enough to cover your father’s debt, but even those funds were diverted to him. I’d put in a complaint, and that’s why I had to leave. The bow street runners had me called to London, to swear to the man’s wrongdoings.”

“And I sent inquiries to you as well,” Sam said, looking away from Dean. “His family had been my family’s financial caretakers for as far back as four generations. We paid for the schooling of any of the children who desired to become lawyers and investment advisors. Perhaps this is why our lands have never flourished as they should have. Perhaps they were always thieves.” Sam’s gaze lifted. “I made several investments that would not see profit until near spring, when the lands would need seed for planting and fresh food for the animals. Were those also diverted? If they were, the estate will be ruined. It will be unable to offer the farmers loans towards planting and labor. They count on us--on the estate, for that aid.”

“Yes, they were diverted, but after I foreclosed, I provided the necessary loans. If there’s anything I believe in, it is order.” He gave Sam a look. “But if you want to study the books, I understand. We can continue this tomorrow,” he said, starting to get up, off his knees. 

Sam rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You are impatient as always, unable to even wait for the answer I promised.” He gave Dean a stern look. “Of course I will spend my life with you provided only one thing.” His face grew grimmer and his voice even more serious. 

Uncertain whether to jump for joy, or fear Sam’s condition, Dean braced for the worst.

“That any true foot fetish you may have is forever put aside. Agreed?” A smile slowly spread onto Sam’s face, his dimples showing.

“For you, I will give anything up. Even that,” Dean answered, though he couldn’t help smiling back. “There you have it. I must be in love.” Slanting his mouth across Sam’s, he kissed him, slowly tugging him closer and closer as his kiss intensified. This was the man he would spend the rest of his life with, adventure with, and laugh with. This was what he’d been searching for all of his life, without knowing it.

One person had known. Missouri.

THE END


End file.
